To Do Over
by MaireadSystem
Summary: Aaron Hotchner has the chance to change something in his past that will affect the rest of his life. It's not as straight-forward as you might think. If finished, this story will span decades and show a lot of behind-the-scenes character development.
1. No

_I can't promise to update frequently; this is my first time posting anything like this. I hope to elaborate on a lot of the gaps in my life outside work that my canon doesn't show much of, or very accurately. You need to keep in mind that I am an alter for someone with DD-NOS, so read this author's profile if that doesn't make sense to you. ~Aaron Hotchner_

_**Warning: **This first chapter contains heavy domestic violence._

* * *

October 3, 2019

I'm on the verge of something. I've been offered a chance that no one gets, but it will change my past as well as my present and future.

It has been mentioned elsewhere that our friend Leo Wyatt has the ability to transport people from place to place, even from one universe to another, and, in some cases, to different times. It's not surprising that learning this got me thinking about the one thing I'd like to go back and change, more than anything: my wife's death.

When Leo made me this offer, I knew I couldn't take it lightly. I had to consider the pros and cons. And yes, there are cons.

"You can change _one thing. _Two would be pushing it," Leo told me.

How can I decide which thing to change? If I just ask that Haley live through the encounter with Foyet, that might mean that she was still shot and recovered in the hospital. We'd still be divorced. We'd still be sharing custody of our son. Things would likely still be strained between us. Isn't that selfish? To keep Haley alive and let Reid lose Maeve, when they might have had a perfect relationship that outlived my marriage to Haley? To choose her over Gideon, who meant so much to all of us? Why do I get this choice?

But it is my choice. I've come to the conclusion that to make the right one, I have to review a lot of things. I'll start with some background.

* * *

I was born November 2nd, 197-something. My online profile says 1971. As often happens when you're an alter (see the author page for more information), I've found a lot of my memories to be hazy now. I didn't remember my own birthday when I first arrived, and even now I'm not completely sure of my age. I look to myself like I did when I was in my mid-thirties, but that's around the time Jack was born, and Jack is in the six-to-eight area. Sometimes Reid enjoys pondering the various aspects of our being fictional in this universe; other times, he agrees with Eren that it will start to hurt your head if you think about it too long. Anyway…

My father, Allen Hotchner, was a lawyer. When I was little, I used to take some interest in the profession. He told me his job was to save people money and keep them from going to jail, which sounded good to me. I would watch him getting ready to go to court and, whenever I got the chance, I'd put on my Sunday suit and pretend to get ready for court too. We lived in an old farm house that had a spacious kitchen, living- and dining room downstairs, along with an office for dad and a full bathroom. Upstairs were three bedrooms, mom's sewing room and another full bath. I had room to run around outside, though most of the property's original farm land had been developed into residences by that time. Things were pretty good.

Then something happened. I've had to piece things together over the years, and some of my guesses may be off, but as far as I know, it was something like this. Dad was starting to care less about whether or not his clients were good people, and mom didn't like it. She was a woman of Christian faith and strong moral conviction, and over time, I started hearing them argue more and more. I started hearing my dad say that it didn't matter whether or not his clients were innocent or in the right–it just mattered if he won in court. I wanted to think well of him, but this didn't seem right. I wanted to support my mom, but I didn't want to lose the camaraderie I had with my dad.

The arguments got worse. I started bolting whenever I saw it coming. The tense voices, mom getting nervous, dad getting irritable. Dad quit going to church with us. My friends would ask where he was and I didn't know what to say. It was embarrassing. I started avoiding them. I started dreading attending. I felt a little relieved when dad told mom to stop taking me. I didn't realize I really wanted him to go with us instead. Mom fought the issue hard because it was important to her. I kept attending and the arguing got worse still.

Mom finally called dad out on his lack of church attendance, questioning whether he even believed in God anymore. He told her something like "Stop being so dramatic" and she told him she didn't want him to go to hell. That was the first time I can remember seeing him hit her. He'd had enough. He didn't want to be told what to do. I think now that he also was somewhat concerned for his own soul and didn't want to admit it. Whatever his motive, none of us attended church that Sunday.

It felt weird. Dinner was the most frightening thing I had lived through up to that point, other than seeing him hit her. It was too quiet. As soon as I'd eaten a little of everything, I jumped up to start the dishes, even though I hated doing the dishes, just to get away from the table.

"Aaron."

I felt a chill. "I was just going to do the dishes," I said.

"You didn't ask to be excused."

My face suddenly felt hot as I returned to my chair. "May I be excused to do the dishes?" I asked, staring down.

"Yeah, go ahead."

I took my dishes to the kitchen and started running the tap water to get it hot. We didn't have a dish washing machine; the old house wasn't equipped for it and dad didn't want to pay someone to install one. I wasn't out there long before I heard the voices getting louder and more tense. I put the water on as high as it would go and moved dishes around to make noise. I couldn't stand hearing them anymore.

From then on, mom was the only one who went to church, and then only if dad was home to stay with me. I didn't know how exactly, but dad had gotten mom not to fight him about taking me anymore. Things were ok when she was gone. We did some things together on Sundays for a while. Dad would ask me now and then, wasn't this better than going to church with my mother? I would smile and nod, but it felt wrong. I didn't want to take sides. I didn't know why there were sides.

Mom was sad so much of the time. When dad wasn't around, she would fill me in on what she'd heard from the preacher at church. She brought me Valentine cards from my Sunday school class. She cried sometimes, when she thought I wasn't around.

The arguing had turned to fighting. I could see that mom was really scared of him, and that terrified me. The bad arguments always ended with him hitting her. If I spoke in her defense, I got hit too. She tried to shield me from it–that always made things worse for her. Naturally, seeing the progression of "he hurts her, I say something, he hurts me, she protects me, he hurts her worse," I stopped speaking up. I'd hide. I'd look away. I wasn't big enough to protect her. It made me ashamed.

A few times, when I got up for a drink in the middle of the night, I found her sleeping on the couch. I thought it was strange, but didn't want to ask her about it. I thought she might be sick and needed to be left alone. One time though, she was awake when I came down.

"Aaron?" she whispered.

I approached the couch quietly. "I was getting a drink," I said. I couldn't see her very well in the moonlight coming through the window, but something about her face seemed off.

She pulled me to her and hugged me for a long time. "Go get your drink," she said, letting me go.

"Are you sick?" I asked.

"No… your father was snoring loudly, so I came down here where it's quiet."

"Oh." I got my drink and said good night to her.

When I got back upstairs, I knew she had told me a lie. Dad wasn't snoring. On the rare occasions that he did, it was loud enough to hear from the hall. Still, maybe he had been snoring when she went down. Maybe it wasn't a lie.

The next morning, I spotted new bruises on mom's face and arms. I pretended not to. There was nothing I could do. We were trapped.

It was getting so that I could spark dad's temper almost as easily as mom could. I tried not to, because mom always defended me and got herself hurt. But it didn't matter how we tried; he had become addicted to doling out punishment. I had to miss school sometimes, if he left marks that were too obvious.

Then, in late spring, the two of them sat down with me in the living room to share some big news.

"Aaron," dad told me, "You're going to be a big brother."

I was nine. I was used to being the only kid. I used to think I wanted a little brother, or even a sister, but that was before the fighting started. Now all I wanted was an older brother to protect me. Not a baby. Babies couldn't do anything.

I looked at my mother, whose stomach had seemed to be getting round lately. "You're having a baby?"

"Yes, sweetie," she said. "Isn't that exciting?" Her smile looked forced.

"Yeah," I said woodenly.

"We're gonna fix up the spare room for the baby," dad said cheerfully.

I thought he was crazy. The spare room was where we stored things… we had just put all our winter clothes in there for the summer. It was full of old magazines and law books, my old school papers and Christmas decorations. Things we meant to sell in a garage sale. Where would all that stuff go? Maybe there was some room in the attic. I wasn't allowed up there, so I didn't know.

"It will stay in our room until it's sleeping through the night," dad went on, "but then it will need its own room."

Mom looked like she was ill.

"We're going to go pick out a crib and some baby clothes. Do you want to come with us?"

"I'm big enough to stay by myself," I said.

Dad chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so. We'll only be gone a couple of hours. Stay out of trouble."

When they were gone, I went up to the spare room and stared at the masses of junk, wondering how we'd ever get it clean enough for anyone to stay in. But then I wondered if the baby would ever really need to.

"He'll kill it," I said out loud. Hearing myself say that scared me. The way he beat mom up all the time, the way he slapped me around… he'd started taking his belt to me, which he'd never done until recently. I felt like he liked doing it. Liked the sound of it, maybe. Once, when he was really mad, he'd dragged me out to the shed to beat me, so mom couldn't interfere. I felt tears in my eyes. What would he do to a little baby? How would it survive?

"No," I whispered as the tears ran down my face. I wouldn't let that baby die. If I had to run away and take care of it myself (God only knows how I thought I'd do that–I had minimal survival skills at that point), or throw myself around it like a cocoon every time dad was angry, no matter how many beatings I had to take, even if I died trying, I would protect my little brother or sister. Maybe that was why I had gotten to be nine before having any siblings: God knew I had to be bigger and stronger than most big brothers. My father had forgotten how to be a dad, so I would have to do it. I would protect this baby. I would. Nothing would stop me.

* * *

Jack's birthday is in four days. We don't age in the normal way here, so he'll still be six-to-eight or so, but we're going to celebrate it just the same. We'll probably get a burger or something and maybe have cupcakes. He'll have a big smile all day long. I've missed too many of his birthdays, so it's nice to make up for one here. And I thank God that he doesn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing and making me angry. I didn't create a cycle of violence. He's sweet and kind and innocent. My boy. My world, now that Haley's gone. I hope that this journey leads to giving him back his mother.

* * *

_Thank you for taking the time to read this. It's a big change from writing reports, so I'm sure I can use some constructive criticism. Support or advice for the decision I have to make is welcome too, just remember that it's a very heavy issue for me. ~AH_


	2. Big Brother

_Thanks for reading chapter one; there was more widespread interest than I expected. But whether or not people go on to chapter two is the real acid test of whether or not it's worth continuing to post, so here we go._

_Warning: More domestic violence._

* * *

We did put a lot of the junk from the spare room into the attic, but some of it remained–a stack of boxes in the corner. Dad was less violent as mom's due date approached, but I was wary. I don't remember the little things that set him off; I just remember the pain and the fear.

One day in July, when it was very hot, the air conditioning unit froze over. It happened now and then–you just had to let it thaw out. The trouble was that it got extremely hot inside while the unit thawed. Dad was blaming us for not letting it rest for a while so this wouldn't happen. Maybe that would have worked, but it still would have gotten hot inside while the unit rested. He'd still have gotten angry.

He kept saying things in this nasty, biting tone that made us feel like we needed to appease him or he'd get violent. In reality, he was trying to get us to "talk back" so he'd have an excuse to get violent.

"Honey, this happens sometimes," mom tried. "It should be ok when it thaws out."

"It better be," he snapped, as if it would somehow be her fault if something else went wrong. "It's goddam ninety degrees outside, and I bet you anything it's hotter in here."

Dad never swore when I was little. I hated that he did now. It felt as bad as being hit. I could see mom wince whenever he did, but she knew better than to confront him about it.

"Maybe we could have ice cream or cold lemonade," I said.

"Ice cream or lemonade," he repeated scornfully, turning toward me.

I took a step back.

He came toward me. "You think when something breaks down, that's a good time to spend money on something we don't need?"

"Sorry," I said, taking another step back.

"He was just trying to help," said mom.

"Shut up!" dad exploded, giving her a nasty look over his shoulder. Then he turned back quickly and grabbed me by the shirt. "If you don't have something useful to say, then keep your mouth shut, you selfish little prick."

He shoved me back and my head thumped against the wall. I grimaced and rubbed my head.

"Allen!" mom exclaimed.

"Oh, what?" he retorted. "He's _fine!"_

Mom was coming toward me to comfort me, but dad intercepted her, grabbing her arm roughly.

"Stop."

"That hurts."

"This hurts? No, I'll show you what hurts." He dragged her to the wall opposite me and threw her against it.

"Dad!" I shouted, unable to stop myself.

"Allen, the baby," she pleaded.

Even though he'd been better in the last few months, this wasn't the first time I'd heard my mother ask him to spare her for the sake of the baby. It usually worked, but not this time.

"What, this baby?" My father put his fist against her very large belly. "You gonna hide behind your own kid? At least you know it's yours..."

I didn't think. I ran at him and threw myself onto the arm threatening my mother and unborn sibling. My attack was a complete surprise, and after a stumbling step and a curse, my father and I crashed to the floor. He landed partially on top of me.

"Little bastard!"

I felt an open hand slapping my head and face a few times, but the close proximity and position kept him from putting his full force behind the blows. Mom was crying, begging him to stop.

Finally, he got up and turned toward the front door. "I can't stand being around you two anymore," he said, flinging the door open. He slammed it behind him and we soon heard his car starting.

Mom helped me up and hugged me. She pushed me back and looked at my face, petting my hair almost frantically. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

"I'm okay," I said, trying to be brave, though my ribcage hurt where some of my father's weight had landed on me. My face stung too, but I knew that would fade quickly, like the bump on my head.

"Oh, Aaron… baby." She hugged me again, unaware that she was putting pressure on my sore side. "I know you were trying to help, but you can't fight daddy like that."

"He can't hurt the baby."

"He didn't mean it. He's just angry because of things at work and the air conditioning. He wouldn't really hurt the baby."

I wanted to believe her, but I didn't intend to let my guard down.

She kissed my forehead. "Come on, let's make some ice packs to keep us cool. We'll refill the ice trays so we have some for later."

It was enough to get me moving. I followed her out to the kitchen and she got out the ice while I got out sealable plastic bags.

"Mommy," I said, "is the baby a boy or a girl?"

She smiled a little. "We wanted to surprise you when it's born."

"But I want to know now."

"I don't think daddy would like that."

"Will you tell me on my birthday?"

"It will be born before then. Only a couple more weeks, remember?"

"I want to know before it comes home."

"How come?"

I shrugged. I wasn't sure why it was so important to me.

"Maybe I'll ask daddy when he's feeling better," she said.

* * *

October 4, 2019

Reid is in front a lot more than I am; Mairead relates to him more than she does to me. Still, whenever she goes back to watch our canon again, I tend to come back to the surface. Jack likes being in front, but it makes it hard for him to do things sometimes. When we went to the zoo here, he wanted to play in an area that was only for small children, and he couldn't do that in front. But, just as children adapt more quickly than adults to new technology, so Jack has adjusted to being an alter more quickly than I did. For instance, using Mairead's muscle memory, he can type twenty-five words per minute with accuracy.

When we have to do boring things for Mairead's work, I send Jack home with Jack Frost. Frost takes him back to our world for a day of school, or to stay with his aunt. But sometimes Frost takes Jack to some random place for a day of fun. One time it was a hollow tree out in the middle of nowhere. It's a good thing I know that Frost is first and foremost a Guardian of children, or I'd never trust him to take my boy so far away–not to mention flying without a parachute.

In spite of his wild adventures here, Jack recently asked me if we were going to go home soon, back to our world. He wants me to go with him. I feel like I need to make my decision quickly, even though I know that Leo can take us back to any point in our timeline that I choose. Time is the one thing I have plenty of. I have to make myself go slowly and assess every detail to make sure I make the best change for the best outcome.

* * *

When Sean was born (August 7th), dad seemed to calm down again, a lot. I missed less school because of less frequent bruises, my grades improved, dad won some good cases, mom looked healthier and the baby was fine. I still kept to myself a lot at school–I had learned that friends eventually wanted to invite me to things and I would have to say no. They would want to come to my house, and I would _absolutely_ have to say no. I couldn't take the chance that my dad would suddenly go back to being mean and they would see it.

I couldn't get into sports, which annoyed my dad. I didn't like depending on anyone, trusting them, so I didn't make a good teammate. As a compromise, I took up track. In a few months, I was doing well enough at it that the coach decided I should compete. My other interest, inspired by a kindly history teacher, was coin collecting. When the abuse was at its height Mr. Herford had noticed my antisocial behavior and taken it upon himself to introduce me to this hobby. Until then, I hadn't given much thought to the idea that there might be rare and valuable coins out in circulation. I started watching for them, and although the 1944 steel penny eluded me, I did find several liberty dimes and buffalo nickels over the course of my childhood.

Between these interests and home life feeling almost normal again, I was fairly content. I hadn't counted on the sleep I would lose to the baby's crying, or on all the diapers I would have to change, but for the most part I didn't mind being a big brother. When Sean started speaking, it became a great source of entertainment for me to teach him new words. I had him saying "no contest" and "conflict of interest" with perfect articulation at two years old. That pleased my dad, who also took up the game. He taught Sean "contempt of court" and "see you in my chambers."

Dad let mom take both of us to church again. I still didn't like the questions I got from other kids, but mom was so happy to take me with her that I bore up as best I could. Sean seemed to like the singing and everyone was eager to hold him. I got asked if I liked being a big brother, and for the first time in years, I felt really proud of something.

Unfortunately, the good times were not to last. Dad had some difficult cases. His swearing started picking up; that was my first warning. Then the arguing started up again. I did my best to keep Sean far away from it. If he couldn't toddle fast enough beside me, I'd pick him up. Weather permitting, I'd take him outside. If not, I'd go upstairs with him. I didn't like to let him in my room much, but his was over-croweded–we'd never moved all of the storage items out. So, sometimes I'd grab a few of his toys and take them to my room. If mom and dad were arguing in their bedroom, I'd take Sean downstairs to play.

The fighting started again. Mom fell back into her submissive, cowed attitude. It made me angrier now than it used to. I remembered things being good and I wanted it back. I couldn't understand how this had happened again. Why hadn't I been able to stop it? I was a teenager going through a frightening and lonely puberty… that was plenty to deal with, let alone worrying that my father would lose his temper and throw something at my mother and end up killing her or Sean by accident.

I remember seeing a sex education video in school. It was so mortifying that I couldn't look at any of my classmates for the rest of the day. At least it was a Friday and we wouldn't have to see each other again until Monday. When I got home and Sean plowed into my legs with a welcome-home hug, it struck me that he had once been a fertilized egg inside my mother. That meant… I thought I was going to throw up. I hid in my room until dinner time.

At dinner, dad wanted to know what was wrong with me, and all I could come up with was "Bad day at school." He launched into a speech about how I needed to "man up." As soon as possible, I asked to be excused to do the dishes. He told me that was women's work and I could go clean the garage instead.

When I stared in surprise, he said, "Go on. What are you waiting for?"

Cleaning the garage would take all night. No head start on my homework. No reading. No playing with Sean. I gave my little brother's head a pat as I walked by his chair and went out to the garage. The sight was overwhelming. I sat down and cried.

After a few minutes, I dried my face and stood up. Maybe the task was impossible, but I could make a good effort. I decided to start by clearing off dad's work bench. I put his wrenches on their pegs on the wall, screwdrivers in their slots in the big toolbox, sockets and ratchets, handsaw and hammers, rags and oil can…

By the time I was starting to be able to see the surface of the bench, it was almost bedtime. I went back inside and washed my hands in the kitchen sink. As I approached the stairs, I could hear my father's angry voice. Then I heard Sean crying.

I crept up the stairs and into Sean's room. He was sitting up in his toddler bed, face shining with tears in the light from the hall. "Shh," I said, going to the bedside.

Sean pushed himself up off the mattress and held out his arms to me.

I wrapped my arms around Sean and rubbed his back. "You're too big to be crying like this," I told him.

"Daddy's mad," he blubbered.

"Yeah, I know. It's okay. Come here." I picked him up and carried him to the window. "Look, there are lots of stars out." I saw them reflected in his tearful eyes. "Stars are huge but they're really far away, so they look tiny. Lots of them have names. And some of them make pictures like Orion–he's a hunter made of stars."

"A hunter made of stars?" Sean's voice sounded normal again, in spite of the ongoing noise from our parents' room.

"Yeah. And the big dipper and little dipper… they're also bears."

"Bears made of stars?"

"Mhm. Like a teddy bear in the sky for when you can't sleep."

"Where is it?"

I scanned the stars. "Um… I'm not sure right now, but that's okay. You can make your own star pictures like playing dot-to-dot."

"Aaron?"

"Yeah?"

"I wanna sleep with you."

"No. You'll wet the bed."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will. You can't help it." I petted his hair and carried him back to bed. "It's okay. You'll be fine here." I tucked him in.

The noise from our parents' room had died down a bit, but now I could hear mom crying.

"Don't worry; everything's okay," I lied. I rubbed his head until he fell asleep.

* * *

_Thank you for making it to the end of chapter two. Feedback would be much appreciated. __~AH_


	3. The Talk

_Quite a few people have looked at chapter two, so in spite of there being no followers yet, I've decided to continue posting for now. Thank you for reading._

**_Warning_**_: More domestic violence. Awkward discussion of sex education._

* * *

October 7, 2019

It's after midnight, so that means it's Jack's birthday. He's fast asleep now, but I'm sure he'll wake me bright and early tomorrow, softly but insistently telling me to get up, crawling all over me and sporting a barely-contained grin. We don't have big plans for the day; we'll get some junk food that I wouldn't normally get for him, but otherwise it will be more about spending the day together than doing anything out of the ordinary.

I think I was about that age when I had my last really fun birthday as a kid. After that, intentionally or not, my father always managed to ruin some aspect of it or another.

* * *

Saturday, dad was in a foul mood. I don't know what he and mom had fought about this time, but he was snapping at all of us. He decided we needed to clean the house because it was too cluttered. That was true enough–my mother had gradually slipped into a habit of picking up cheap items at thrift outlets and bargain stores. Although the value for money was good, they were often things we didn't really need; things like extra clothes for Sean or me, sometimes toys or books, novelty appliances or clearance crafting material. Things were piled here and there, and they looked pretty sloppy.

After some tense discussion about where everything should go, dad finally decided that Sean's room would be turned back into a storage space and my brother would move into my room. I was not at all happy about that, but the warning looks and edge to my dad's voice in response to protesting quickly shut me down. Miserably, I went to my room to tidy it up a little and rearrange things so Sean's bed could be moved in. I wanted to cry, but I'd had enough of that the night before. I also knew that if dad caught me at it, he'd humiliate me for it.

Soon, we were carrying the toddler bed rails into my room and setting it up. It just made things worse that Sean was overjoyed about the whole thing. He kept saying "I can share Aaron's room," which was in mimicry of dad's declaration earlier. I could tell dad was getting tired of the repetition, and I was too, but I ignored it.

We went to fetch Sean's mattress and he followed us, watching and babbling excitedly. When we carried it into the hall, dad snapped "Get out of the way" and pushed Sean's shoulder.

Sean toddled back a couple of steps and fell into a sitting position, looking on the verge of tears. Mom's quiet sound of protest was drowned out by my voice.

"No!" In the last three years, although he'd become irritable again, verbally abusive and somewhat violent toward my mom and me, he had never bullied Sean in this way before. Never hurt him beyond a little smack for actual naughtiness. I had promised myself this would never happen, and now it had. I knew that I had crossed a line and would be punished, so with little to lose, I dropped my end of the mattress and stepped toward my father, determined to make a point. "He's just a little kid," I shouted. "You can't treat him like he's a dog or something!"

Dad also dropped the mattress and grabbed me hard by the shoulders. "You shut your mouth," he said in a dangerous tone. He was already dragging me down the hall.

"Allen," mom said frantically, but she chose to go pick up Sean rather than try to stop him, and I was glad.

Dad ignored her and dragged me down the stairs. I struggled a little, but most of my concentration went into staying upright and not falling on my face. He took me all the way out the front door and down to the shed where we kept the lawnmower and my bicycle in the winter. He hadn't taken me out there since before Sean was born.

He threw me inside and came in after me, shutting the door behind him. "Take your shirt off," he said, unbuckling his belt.

_I won't cry,_ I told myself. _No matter how much he hurts me, I won't cry._ I made myself look at him while I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off. I wanted to throw it at him in defiance, but I wasn't quite that brave.

"Against the wall," he growled.

I gave him one last look and turned to brace myself on the rough wall of the shed.

"You don't ever–" the belt slapped across my shoulders. "–_ever_ raise your voice to me."

Several more blows and more harsh words followed. I gritted my teeth and fought the gasps and outcries that were trying to escape me. I was thirteen now. I could take this. I probably deserved it for letting him push Sean. I couldn't fail my brother again.

Finally, when I wasn't sure I could stay standing much longer, he stopped. "Stay in here until dinnertime," he said.

By the time I turned around, he had bolted the door from the outside. Dinner was hours away. I sank to the floor and rested a few minutes before struggling to see the damage over my shoulder.

He had spaced out the blows fairly evenly. The bad thing was that my whole back hurt from the back of my neck down to my waist. The good thing was that he hadn't concentrated on one area enough to make me bleed. The welts might be gone by morning if I was lucky.

Gingerly, I pulled my shirt back on and fastened the buttons. I looked around the shed for anything more comfortable to sit on and all I could come up with was a folded tarpaulin. It was better than nothing.

As I waited for the time to pass, I coached myself on how to act when I got out. I needed to be completely subdued, let my father see that I'd learned my lesson. That was the quickest way to put this behind us. As long as Sean was safe, my pride didn't matter.

Some time later, when my back was sore not only from the beating, but from sitting unsupported for so long, I heard the bolt come out of the door's latch. The door opened a crack and the bolt was replaced. Then I heard muffled steps retreating in the withering autumn grass. He had nothing to say to me, but my punishment was over.

* * *

When Sean asked where I'd been, I told him I'd been working on something for school. He bought the lie easily and told me what we were having for dinner. I helped mom set the table and we sat down to eat.

Dad was still irritable, but not like he had been earlier. I maintained my submissive attitude, which seemed to be the right way to go. Mom looked really sad, so I tried to look a little more cheerful when she glanced in my direction.

At the end of dinner, dad declared that he was going out.

"Where are you going?" Sean asked.

"To town," dad answered curtly.

"What for?"

"It doesn't matter. I'll probably be back when you're in bed. Be good."

Sean slipped off his booster seat and caught dad as he was pushing back from the table, holding his arms up.

I was glad that my brother had forgotten the whole incident so quickly, but it still made me sick to see dad pick him up and hug him goodbye as if he hadn't shoved him down for no reason just a few hours ago.

"Bye-bye," Sean said before going back to his seat to finish his peas. They took him a while to chase around his plate. As soon as dad was gone, he started picking them up with his fingers.

I silently gathered the dishes and took them to the sink.

"Aaron," mom said softly.

I looked at Sean and shook my head. She took my signal not to talk about it in front of him. I hoped she wouldn't bring it up again later. She had enough to worry about.

* * *

Whatever dad did in town must have put him in a better mood. He didn't protest once about mom taking me and Sean to church the next morning. As it turned out, I picked the wrong week to go. As soon as we sat down, my mother was surrounded by a trio of church gossips who hid their appetite for scandal behind masks of concern.

"Moira," one of them said in a quiet but urgent tone, "was your Aaron a victim of the classroom atrocity Friday?"

My name having arrested my attention, I wondered what on earth she could be talking about.

"Those poor children never saw it coming," another lady murmured.

"Saw what coming?" my mother asked, clearly trying not to get too anxious before she knew the answer.

I could almost see a light in their eyes when they confirmed that my mother hadn't heard the news yet–they would get to be the ones to break it to her.

"A sex education class," the first whispered. "No warning! No letter to the parents. They just sprung it on them in physical education class as if it were routine."

It had been biology class, actually, but I kept my mouth shut. My face was getting warm. I wanted to disappear.

"We're going to make a petition," the third lady said. "They can't do these things behind our backs. It's up to us to educate our children. I don't want some stranger teaching my Jenny how to get pregnant!"

I pulled Sean onto my lap to give myself an excuse not to pay attention to anything around me. This was so embarrassing. I literally prayed that none of the kids at church who were also my classmates would wander over. Fortunately, the choir began assembling on the platform at the front of the church; that signaled the gossips to return to their usual seats.

I tried to act like everything was normal throughout Sunday school and the worship service, but as soon as we were on our way home, I knew my fears were justified.

"So," mom said, "were you in that class Missus Benson was talking about?"

I shrank a little in my seat. "Yeah… but it wasn't a big deal," I said.

After a minute, mom asked, "Was it not a big deal because you already knew what they were teaching?"

I didn't know how to answer that. If I said yes, she might think I was already doing that stuff. If I said no… I didn't have time to think this through. I shrugged.

"I told your dad he should talk to you about this… last year, I think. I didn't think he had, but then I kept forgetting about it. I'm sorry."

It felt weird that she was apologizing for _not_ doing something agonizing to me. "It's fine. I don't… I don't think I'd want dad talking to me about it anyway."

She sighed. "But would you rather him or a teacher at school with lots of other kids where you might be embarrassed to ask questions?"

_You think it wouldn't be embarrassing to ask dad questions? _"I don't have any questions."

"If that's true, then I think they explained far too much. That's very upsetting to me."

"It was fine, mom. Maybe I'll have questions some time, but I don't have a girl friend. I'm not even in high school yet!"

"I know… that's part of why I'm upset. I would understand parents talking to junior high kids about…" she glanced in the rearview mirror at Sean in his carseat. "...about these things, but not some stranger in a public place…"

"Mister Meyer and Miz Lawler aren't strangers. They're teachers I've known quite a while."

"Okay. I just don't like it. I'm going to talk to someone about it tomorrow."

"Please don't. I'm already unpopular at school…"

"Not in person. I'll call."

I didn't like that either, but I didn't argue any further. I hoped that would be the last I heard of it.

* * *

Alas, it was not to be. I had just settled in to do homework in my room–Sean's and my room now–when dad came to the door.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked, already on his way in. He never asked to come in before.

I moved my textbook onto my pillow so he could sit on the end of my bed.

"I heard you had an unusual class at school Friday."

I tried not to let anything show on my face, but I was cringing inside. "It was just some anatomy stuff," I said.

"That's not what I heard. I heard it was a sex class."

How did he manage to make it sound even worse? I searched for terminology that would bring it back to sounding scientific. "It was an overview of the reproductive system."

"Oh, I see. The male reproductive system, or the female reproductive system?"

I stared at the floor. "Both."

"What exactly did they tell you?"

"I don't know… lots of stuff. It took almost a whole class period."

"Give me a straight answer, Aaron. Did they show you pictures?"

"Yeah… well, drawings. They weren't real people."

"Pictures of what?"

I'd been glad up to that point that I didn't seem to be blushing, but now it all finally caught up to me. My face was extremely hot and I was breaking into a sweat. "The reproductive system," I said in a low voice. "Organs… stuff inside… stuff outside. Not so much the stuff outside, though. They showed more of that for the male… they explained how it works. What…" I swallowed hard. My mouth was so dry. "What makes people get pregnant." _Why did I say people? I should have said women. Men don't get pregnant. Why am I being so stupid?_

"So, they did teach you how to do it."

That sounded so gross. "They… they explained how it works," I repeated. "It's not like I want to do it."

"Have your balls even dropped yet?"

I hadn't thought my face could get any redder, but I felt it do so when he said that.

"I've heard your voice crack what… once?"

I cleared my throat. Breathing was hard.

"You've probably got a while to wait before you'll even be able to do it. But remember…" he put his hand on my shoulder and I glanced up to see him staring at me intently. "Just because I don't go to church anymore doesn't mean I think sin is okay."

It didn't strike me at the time how ironic his declaration was.

"If you get a girl pregnant, that's on you. I'm not raising some bastard of yours. You won't get any help from me. May as well pack up and get out. Understand?"

I nodded. Even if I managed to get a girl friend in high school, and even if I somehow worked up the nerve to try something like that, the class had gone over the importance of contraceptives, and I thought a person would have to be pretty stupid not to use them.

"Good. How's the homework coming?"

The abrupt change of subject shook me a little. I'd barely started. "Uh… I have quite a bit left. Haven't had a lot of time." _Because you made me clean the garage on Friday and made us clean all day yesterday and locked me in the shed for a couple of hours…_

"Make sure you get it done. No track meet if your grades slip."

I nodded again. My coach had already made that mandate clear to me.

"Okay." Dad stood up, slapping my shoulder lightly before leaving the room.

I had to lie down for a while. Taking a beating seemed pleasant in comparison to the talk we'd just had. It had erased any notion I'd had of possibly asking for explanations or advice from my father on sexual matters. It seemed to me that getting the information from teachers wasn't a bad idea at all.

* * *

_Sex ed back then wasn't what I'd call the optimum way for a kid to become informed, but there's always something worse._

_Thanks for reading this far. ~AH_


	4. Too Noisy

_I finally have some feedback. Replies to reviews can be found at the end of the chapter, for those who are interested. I also sent the replies via private message, so the reviewers would get them sooner._

_**Warning**__: More domestic violence._

* * *

October 10, 2019

You may have noticed that this chapter took a few days. As more birthdays and holidays approach, we will be increasingly busy here. It will leave less time for writing, but it's good in some ways. Jack is excited about "Uncle Reid's" birthday and mine, and especially Halloween. He's been debating what he wants to dress up as, and I think we're going with Star Wars. He wants me to be Jango Fett so he can be young Boba Fett. I'm more a fan of the original movies, but the costume idea is pretty cool and I know he'll love it.

Our Halloween party, though, is the 12th, and that's going to be all Patrick Jane, if things go according to plan. He's our newest alter, and we started making these plans before we realized he was sticking around for long. We thought he'd be gone in a few days, but he's still here so far. The plan was, and is, to use the signature of the serial killer Red John in our decor: a bloody-looking smiley face on the wall and another in the frosting on the cake. Now that we know he's planning to be here (and will get to dress as himself in front for the occasion), we realized that the signature will likely be very triggering for him because Red John killed his wife and daughter. He's being a very good sport about it, but we've made sure he understands he can leave anytime if he needs to get away from everything. He says, "Red John doesn't exist in this world. Hell, neither do I, so… it'll be fine." Let's hope he's right.

* * *

In spite of my best efforts, I wasn't able to keep dad from laying a hand on Sean. I got between them when I could, pushed his buttons so he'd forget being angry with Sean and be angry with me instead, did homework by the light of my desk lamp so I could keep an eye on him when he was sleeping… but I couldn't always be there. Sometimes dad would come home from work at lunchtime and I'd be at school. They didn't always go to my track events, though mom tried to.

One day the following year, I got home to find that Sean had a split lip. He seemed fairly cheerful in spite of it; obviously, it was hours old.

"Aaron, look!" Sean said, holding up a messy drawing that was discernible as a lion.

"That's great," I said, forcing a smile. I knelt beside him and made myself take the drawing and look at it for several seconds before asking, "What happened to your lip, buddy?"

Remembering it suddenly, Sean ran his tongue over the wound and then hung his head. "Nothing."

"It's okay," I said. "You can tell me."

Sean stared at his drawing a little while before declaring, "Maybe I bumped it."

"Why won't you tell me what really happened?"

More silence. Then the drawing came up in my face. "It's a lion!"

I gently pushed his arm down. "I know. Tell me how your lip got hurt."

He put his hands together at the drawing's edge, rustling the paper anxiously. Finally, he said, "I'm too noisy."

"Dad hit you in the mouth for making noise?" I asked, barely containing my anger. "Where's mom?"

"Napping."

"Okay. Let's stay downstairs, then."

"Will you make a picture?"

"I have to do my homework."

"Is it hard?"

"Yeah, high school homework is really hard. So, try not to bother me, okay? I'll make you a picture after."

"Okay."

Some schools not far away were still participating in the fading "open education" movement. Mine was a more traditional school, but the movement did have influence over some of the teachers, who were largely allowed to establish their own curriculum. Unfortunately, for that reason in particular, my English and math grades weren't the best. With kids choosing which table to sit at each day and which aspect of the subject they wanted to work on, a lot of us weren't really learning any of it. Yet, we were still expected to achieve a certain level of knowledge for testing.

I really tried to learn, telling myself that surely I was at least learning the important parts, but my first report card showed C's in those subjects. History was an easy A for me, as were physical education and health class, not that they counted for much. Fine arts was not required, and in my first two years of high school, I felt that wood shop and other electives would suit me better. I had lost all interest in becoming a lawyer, wanting to be as little like my father as possible. I figured that when I was old enough, I'd get a full-time job and work hard at it until I could take mom and Sean far away. I would support them. I would need to know how to do manual labor, in case I couldn't find anything better.

In spite of the fact that my math teacher required minimal homework, I'd taken a lot home with me. I thought that geometry would be important if I ended up doing woodworking in my profession, and to take geometry next year, I needed to get at least a basic understanding of algebra this year. To be honest, I didn't have much clue what I was doing, but I tried very hard.

In the midst of my intense studying, Sean came up to me with a new picture and urged me to look at it.

"It's a war-yer!"

The picture seemed to show a human… probably a man… holding some lumpy brown object.

"Um… a warrior?" I asked.

"A war-yer! Like daddy."

"Oh! a _lawyer."_

"Yeah!"

The lumpy object was supposed to be a briefcase, then. "Huh." I couldn't muster much enthusiasm.

"Do you think he'll like it?"

"Yeah."

"What should I draw now?"

"A dog," I said. I liked dogs. I used to want one pretty bad, but I figured if dad was rough on us, he'd kill a dog. Especially since dad didn't seem to like animals much; when stray cats came on our property, he shot at them with a BB gun.

"Okay." Sean sat down to draw some more and I had a couple more minutes of peace.

At five, I moved my school things up to our bedroom before going to my parents' door and knocking softly. "Mom?" I called. After a moment, I tried again.

This time, I heard the bed creak. Then the door opened. "Welcome home, Aaron," mom said sleepily.

"Mom, it's five o'clock."

"Really? I didn't think I fell asleep. Would you set the table? I'll go down and start dinner in a minute."

"Okay."

On my way to the kitchen I passed Sean, who complained that I hadn't drawn him a picture yet.

"I'm not done with my homework yet," I countered. "Help me set the table." I got out plates and napkins. I put the stack of plates at mom's place and folded a napkin in half for her. "Fold it like this and put them all on this side of the plate," I instructed. Then I went around the table, leaving a plate at each place.

I went to the silverware drawer for knives and forks. When I got back I saw that Sean had finished… sort of. "I said to put them all on this side," I said, pointing at the napkin to the left of mom's plate.

"I did put them on that side!" Sean whined.

I took another look at the table. Sean's napkin was at the bottom of his plate, by the table's edge. Dad's was on the right side of his plate. Mine was at the top of my plate. Technically, they were all on the side of the plate closest to the same edge of the table. I sighed. "I meant the left side of the plate," I said, moving Sean's napkin to the correct spot. "See?"

"I don't know left and right," Sean said, his injured lip wobbling.

"Okay, okay. I'll teach you later."

Mom came down before we finished putting the silverware on the table. Miraculously, in just a few minutes she had the kitchen full of delicious smells that promised a good dinner.

Dad got home while we were washing up. As soon as his hands were dry, Sean ran to show dad his picture.

"Oh yeah," dad said when he realized what the picture represented. "Nice. Let's put that on the fridge."

You would never have known that earlier in the day, he had been angry enough to hit a four-year-old hard in the face. I realized that my dad was as smart as he was mean. He still seemed like a nice guy a lot of the time, and he had taken to hitting me only in places it didn't show so I wouldn't miss any more school days. But Sean wasn't in school yet, and it wouldn't be too unusual to keep him home from church every now and then. I knew he hit mom too, but her face seemed to be avoided these days–no more makeup covering bruises.

I realized as we sat down to eat that we were well and truly trapped. Things weren't likely to get any better as long as we lived under this roof. If anything, they would get worse. If we tried to tell anyone, they'd never believe us. Not Allen Hotchner. Not that wonderful husband and father. Impossible–he's always so kind and friendly.

I was losing my appetite fast.

"Aaron, eat your food."

I immediately stuffed my mouth with green beans and chewed mechanically, feeling sicker by the moment. _No one will ever know. He's going to get away with it forever._

"Are you sick, honey?" my mom asked.

I shook my head.

"Honey," dad echoed scornfully. "He's fourteen, for god's sake. Not that you'd know it… he's got no arm muscle and his voice is barely deeper than Sean's…"

I started counting how many times I chewed, swallowing each time I hit ten. It was true that my voice wasn't changing much. I know now that high voices in males can be retained because of pressure or ridicule from family, but at the time I just figured something was wrong with me. It did change, of course, but I remain a tenor to this day. Sometimes I wonder if that's because of my dad's attitude or just my genes.

"...no hair on his chest, much less his face…"

_I'll just put some hair tonic on my chest and face,_ I stopped myself from saying. I'd just get hit for being disrespectful. _I do have some hair, though… really, really short hair…_

"Ow!" Sean broke into dad's excruciating criticism, his face twisting into an expression of pain.

"What happened?" mom asked.

Contorted by his wailing, the words "I poked my lip with my fork" made it out of Sean's mouth.

I could see that Sean's lip was bleeding a little. I reached over the table to blot it with my napkin. "Shh, it's okay, buddy."

"Oh, don't fuss over him, Florence Nightingale," said dad. "You're _fine,_ Sean. Quit being a crybaby."

Sean did his best to pull himself together, though a couple of tears made it down his face. I wanted to tell him dad was being a bully, wanted to punch my father in the face and see how he liked it, but I managed to keep my temper. I sat back in my chair and picked up my fork again. I could comfort Sean later.

I stole a glance at mom and saw that she was having a hard time not crying too. "So, um…" I had started speaking before deciding where I was going with my sentence. I hesitated.

"What?" dad asked.

I said the first thing I could think of. _Drawing… dogs… can't have a dog…_ "I saw a stray dog today."

"So?"

"Well, I think it was stray. I called to it, but it wouldn't come over." It was a complete fabrication.

"Good. Last thing we need is some mangy dog to follow you home. Got enough to worry about."

"I want to see the dog," said Sean, the tears drying on his face.

"You can't," I said. "It was near my school. It's long gone by now."

Sean huffed, looking down at his food.

"Great, now he's got something else to pout about," dad snapped. "Let's stop worrying about every little thing and have a nice quiet dinner for once."

Dinner was definitely quiet after that. I finally got away to finish my homework. Afterward, I got some paper to make the picture I had promised Sean.

"Draw the dog you saw," Sean said.

I almost told him it wasn't real, but kids that young aren't good at keeping secrets. I did a rough drawing of something like a small golden retriever mix and handed it over.

"Let's put it on the fridge," Sean said enthusiastically.

"Nah… you can put it on the wall over your bed," I said, not particularly wanting my father to see my attempts at artwork.

Sean agreed with my idea, and we taped the drawing to the wall where he could just reach it when lying in his bed.

"I wish we had a dog," Sean said.

"Don't ask dad for one. He doesn't want any pets."

* * *

Sean's lip bled a little more when he was brushing his teeth, so I helped him put petroleum jelly on it. I was putting the jar away when we heard our parents voices getting those unpleasant tones again. Dad's was caustic; mom's was appeasing.

"Come on," I told Sean. I picked him up and crossed the hall as quietly as I could, shutting our door behind us.

I couldn't hear much of what mom said, but from the fragments I caught from dad, I determined that he was starting in on the "how do I know Sean's my son" routine. Sean definitely didn't need to hear that.

"Sean, want to play a game?" I asked.

"Yeah," was the inevitable reply.

"I want you to get in the closet and don't make a sound. I'm going downstairs for a minute. If you can stay quiet in there while I'm gone, I'll have a surprise for you when I get back."

"Okay!" Sean pulled my closet door open and shoved my shoes out of the way so he had room to sit down. "Turn the light on," he whispered.

I reached up and pulled the chain that turned on the closet light. "Not a sound," I reminded him.

He nodded. I let myself out of the room, tiptoed down the hall and then hurried downstairs to the kitchen sink. Underneath it was cleaning supplies and extra trash bags. I grabbed a few of the latter and made my way back up to the bedroom. Mom and dad were still arguing when I got back.

I went to the closet door and whispered, "Sean, I'm back. Stay in there just a little longer, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered back.

I pulled back my sheets and spread the trash bags over one side of the mattress. Then I tucked everything in again and went back to the closet.

"Come on out, but stay quiet."

"What's the surprise?" Sean whispered.

"The surprise is you can sleep in my bed. Get your PJ's on."

As expected, Sean was happy to hop into my bed. It was a little further from the door, and I was sure that he would be more interested in whispering to me than in listening to our parents argue.

I could tell that dad had hit mom a couple of times, but that usually meant the fight wouldn't last much longer. There was no point in trying to intervene; keeping Sean out of it was more important.

* * *

_Thanks for reading this far. The next chapter (or two) will probably be very hard for me to write, so don't be surprised if I don't post it for a while. We'll see._

_As I mentioned, review replies are below, for anyone interested in my explanations to questions or responses to comments._

_To Lolyncut: Thanks for the comments. You're right, my brother's name is Sean. I'm not sure if that's the canonical spelling, but a few things in my life were different from canon. My mom once told me that she had wanted to give him another biblical name like mine, but dad didn't like any of the ones she chose. Something canon got wrong was my not being close to Sean when we were young. The explanation given in "Brothers Hotchner" was that I left for boarding school when he was going into first grade, but as the astute fan will realize, that doesn't mesh well with my meeting Haley in my junior year of high school. I'm not sure where you got the reference to my defending Sean–he was in only two episodes of the canon, and unless I'm mistaken, there was no mention of the abuse in either one._

_To Sherryola: I debated some time about posting my story because it's very personal, but I thought my being fictional in this world would make that less important. I'm guessing you're not familiar with DD-NOS, and you see this story as just something sensational designed for entertainment, but it actually is my life. Saying that my son and I were better off without his mother is tantamount to telling me that you're glad the love of my life was taken away from me by a brutal killer. It's insensitive, to say the least._

_Of course, I do have to make allowance that all you know of her is from canon, and that's a small part of our story. I hope you will keep reading, because I think that if I can write it well enough, no one who makes it to the end will think I am better off without Haley. They will come to understand why I love her so much and, I hope, appreciate her as she deserves._

_To Daisyangel: Thanks for your feedback. I understand the confusion. You can find very helpful articles on both DID and DD-NOS online. The problem with understanding DD-NOS is that each case is vastly different from the next. In our case, it's less about sharing the host's body and more about the host "channeling" a character. Even when I'm "in front" (the alter that people on your plane can interact with through Mairead), if I look down I don't see my host's body; I see my own. Jack sees his own little hands, even as he's using Mairead's longer fingers to type. It's difficult to explain to anyone who hasn't had a similar experience. In a nutshell though, it's a coping mechanism. We deal with things Mairead can't. Sometimes when people hear about it, they think it sounds like fun and start claiming they have the same thing, but typically it is the result of prolonged anxiety or trauma. It sometimes accompanies ASD and other disorders._

_Thank you for your interest. I encourage you to read more on these disorders; awareness is invaluable._

_~A. Hotchner_


	5. Pretending

_To pechika and SouthunLady, thanks for your readership and reviews. They were encouraging. Also, thanks to whomever followed/favorited the story._

_Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. It was a little difficult to write, and a lot has been going on (more on that below)._

**_Warning:_**_ More abuse and cutting. I understand that going into detail is sometimes very triggering for those of us who used to (or currently) cut, but I have two reasons for doing so here. The first is selfish–I haven't been able to talk about it for a long time, so it's cathartic to write about it–and the other is to help bridge the gap between us and people who have not cut. No, I don't want you to start. I want you to understand some of the myriad reasons that kids and some adults self-harm in this way. It's not simple and it could happen to anyone. However, if you're worried that reading about it could lead to bad experiences for you, by all means: skim or skip this chapter as needed._

* * *

I took to letting Sean crawl into my bed whenever mom and dad were fighting at night. The fights were getting more and more one-sided. Mom was tired and sad all the time. She never laughed, rarely smiled and didn't sing outside of church. The only time she seemed like herself was when she was cooking, which may be why Sean started "helping" with it before he was even five years old.

Dad kept going off at odd times with no explanation. I was glad to have him out of the house more, but I hated that he didn't think it was worth telling us where he was going or when he'd be back. Knowing when he was coming back would help me feel more prepared.

As it was, I felt like I had no control over my life. Running helped a little, but never enough. I still had to go home eventually, back to the father who didn't seem to love his family anymore, the mother who had given up on happiness, and the brother who would soon be too old to fool into thinking things were all right. I was slipping into a deep depression. I wanted to do well in school, but it was harder and harder to focus. I was still passing everything, but barely.

It was around the end of my freshman year that dad decided to wake me in the morning because there had been a storm the night before and we'd lost power. He knew my alarm hadn't gone off, and he wasn't about to miss a chance to tell me I'd be in trouble if I was late for school.

"Aaron… what the hell?!"

He and mom had fought the night before, or rather, he'd beaten her, so I'd let Sean sleep in my bed. It was at least the fourth or fifth occasion. Now, Sean was just starting to wake up to dad's outrage.

"What is he doing in your bed?"

"He had a bad dream," I lied, "so I let him sleep with me."

"Bad dream?" Dad looked at Sean. "Get out of his bed this instant."

Barely awake and whimpering, Sean crawled out of bed.

I sat up. "He's still little…"

"But he's not a baby," dad countered. "You belong in your own beds. Don't let me catch him in yours again. You want him to grow up to be a damn queer?"

My eyes got big. I knew the term only from overhearing conversations at school. "Dad!" I exclaimed sharply.

"Don't use that tone with me. Get ready for school. Your alarm didn't go off. If you're late for the bus, I'm not driving you."

I hated the bus, but I hated riding with dad in the car more, so it wasn't much of a threat. Still, I didn't want to miss class.

I scrambled around to get ready in time while my mind went over and over what he'd said. He was always getting on me for my lack of masculinity–did he think I was queer? Worse, did he think that that would make me do something… _like that_ to my own brother? I felt sick.

I couldn't focus at school. One of my teachers surprised me with a question and I couldn't answer. It was humiliating. When health class rolled around and we were reminded that there was an optional video about menstruation, I thought _Just kill me now._

It was optional for the boys. We would get our video about puberty the following day, if we didn't have a note from a parent excusing us. I planned to have that note. After all, I'd already gotten that surprise lesson in junior high.

I meant to skip this period to study, since I was doing so poorly, but I heard some other boys talking about the video like it was this amazing secret about to be revealed. I thought they sounded stupid, but I was also curious. In the end, I decided to go, but to reread my history lesson while I was there.

Unfortunately for my plans, the health teacher darkened the room to make the projector's image clearer. The light was too dim to read by, except when the movie picture was largely white space. I gave up and put the book away.

I came out of the class with a lot of sympathy for my mom. I thought maybe what I'd learned explained some of her more emotional moments, but my father's cruelty would explain it too.

Walking down the hall, I suddenly overheard a girl say to another, "I can't believe how many boys were in there."

Her companion answered, "I know. If any of them say anything to me about it, I'll punch 'em in the face. They better not think they know what it's like because of some silly cartoon."

That made me think I might not understand things as well as I'd been thinking. But I couldn't ask any of the girls for insight–I didn't like the idea of being punched in the face. I thought it best to just pretend that I never saw the video.

After phys ed, I took a shower and stayed in the stall until the locker room was empty. I knew I still had a few minutes before my last class and I wanted to be alone. I sat on a bench and put my head in my hands. I thought about how stupid my life was at this point and how it wasn't likely to get better for years. I thought about how even when I was old enough to live on my own, I couldn't leave my mom and Sean behind. I felt sick. I wanted to punch something. Someone. Maybe myself.

In those days, pocket knives were common at school. They were useful in woodshop and for opening stubborn milk cartons in the cafeteria, as well as various other things. I had one myself; it was an old one of my father's. I took it out now and opened it. It was a nice blade with a slight top curve narrowing the blade to a slender point. But it wasn't very shiny anymore; I doubted its sterility.

I wanted to start whittling away at the bench I was sitting on–many boys had carved their initials in various places around the locker room already–but I couldn't bring myself to damage school property. For some reason, that still mattered to me. I scanned my arm. I had heard about kids cutting themselves… most people said they did it to get attention. I didn't want attention; I wanted to hide. So, why did I feel like hurting myself? It didn't make sense.

If I cut my arm, people would notice. I closed the knife. Then I opened it again. Who said I had to cut my arm? Just because that's where people were said to do it didn't mean that I had to do it there. I should take a leaf out of my father's book and choose someplace that wouldn't show. I pulled my short sleeve back. The back of my shoulder wasn't an obvious place.

I turned the knife in my fingers. I didn't want to accidentally make a deep slice. I'd just drag the tip across my skin and see what happened.

What happened was nothing at first, and then, with more pressure, a bit more pain than I had expected. I gasped and tensed for a few seconds until the initial pain passed. Then I looked over my shoulder to gauge the damage. It wasn't bleeding much. I could get away with not dressing the wound.

I closed my knife and put it away, tugged my sweater on and hurried out of the locker room. I was almost late for my last class.

I wish I could say that was my one and only experience with cutting, but far from it.

* * *

October 22, 2019

It took me even longer to write this chapter than I thought it would. Our system has been hit pretty hard over the past several days–see our profile "What's up right now" for details. When our host is majorly depressed we all become more emotional than usual, try as we might to help her keep things under control.

We had our Halloween party of course, which was fun. After we watched a movie we played mad libs with our automated system. Jane stood near the device to clarify when it misunderstood various people's shouted contributions. He himself contributed a lot of words like "con artists" and "suspiciously." We had a lot of leftovers (we actually just finished the cake yesterday) and still have our decor up.

Reid's birthday is the 28th. He's said he doesn't need anything in the way of presents. He still has the brain teasers we gave him for Christmas… unopened. So much has happened this year that we haven't had much time for trying new things. We moved, among other things, as I may have mentioned. I'll have to push myself to keep writing this or it will get neglected and ultimately abandoned.

* * *

I changed my mind about the puberty lesson. I'd blocked out most of the surprise one from junior high and wanted to make sure I remembered the key facts correctly. This class being geared toward the boys, I did get some more detailed information than I had before. That was helpful, in spite of my embarrassment about the few girls who turned up for the class. All in all, I wished all the girls had attended. The teachers made it pretty clear that just being a boy didn't automatically mean that all you cared about was sex, and that just because your body did certain things at inconvenient times, it didn't mean you were a pervert.

For the first time in my life, I found myself thinking, _I might actually want to do that someday. Maybe. If the right circumstances happen._ I would never have voiced this to my peers. Half of them were pretending they'd done it already, and the rest were either clinging to the "girls are gross" mantra or making it all too obvious that they were on the prowl to start their sexual careers as soon as possible. I avoided most conversations with classmates, but especially the ones about girls and dating.

The only real friends I had were the other boys who ran track, and they weren't close friends. Sure, we competed for the same school, but other than a rare relay here and there, we didn't compete as a team. The more beat up I got at home, the more I'd avoid everyone. No one could know. And no one could know about the cutting, either.

It made me feel a little stupid afterward–how could hurting myself possibly help with the rest of the pain I was in? But it also gave me a sense of relief that I couldn't otherwise explain. I limited myself to one or two scratches at a time, maybe once a week or so. They were small and shallow and my father didn't notice them, even when he made me take my shirt off for a beating. Maybe he did see them but assumed he'd caused them.

Over the course of my freshman and sophomore years, dad's unexplained absences happened more and more. Sometimes he was gone all night. It was great not having him around, but mom seemed sick over it. I thought at first that she was worried about his safety. Finally, I realized that he was probably having an affair.

If mom asked him where he'd been or anything of the sort, he'd get angry very quickly. We all learned not to ask about it. Mom got more and more depressed. Dad's temper got even more touchy, he drank more often, and I found myself jumping between him and mom or him and Sean more and more frequently. The shed started to feature heavily in my punishments. In spite of a lot of effort on my part, my grades slipped again. No track meet in the spring.

I got home late one Friday. I'd gotten off the bus and wandered away from the house, needing some time to myself. I regretted it when I got back and saw that dad had gotten home before me.

The house seemed too quiet when I went inside. Dad was watching TV and mom was in the kitchen.

"Where you been?" dad asked, not looking at me. A couple of beer cans sat on the coffee table in front of him, something that was becoming a familiar sight.

"Training," I lied.

"What for? Didn't they kick you off the team?"

That was kind of a team-sports way of putting it, but I just said, "I'll get my grades back up soon. I don't want to get out of shape."

"Hm."

I realized what was wrong. "Where's Sean?"

"Time out."

The "time out" as a disciplinary measure wasn't all that wide-spread yet, and I seemed to remember dad being rather dismissive of it. He was much more of a "spare the rod, spoil the child" kind of a person.

"Is he upstairs?" I asked.

"You worry about your own business."

I took my backpack up to our room, but Sean wasn't there. I took a moment to calm myself and then went down to the kitchen.

"Mom," I said quietly as I got silverware out of the drawer, "where's Sean?"

"In the shed," she whispered.

I stiffened. "How long has he been out there?"

"About twenty minutes."

"I should have been here. Should have stopped him."

"I don't think he hurt him," she said. "He'll be upset, but he's okay…"

"Mom, there are tools in there. Sharp things. He's five."

"He won't touch anything."

"You don't know that." I looked out through the living room at the front door.

"Aaron, don't do anything. He'll just hurt you."

We almost never talked about what he did. We didn't even exchange those looks anymore. When she said it out loud, it made me feel sick.

"When will dinner be ready?"

"In about ten minutes."

"Make it fifteen. Everything will be okay."

"Aaron…"

I quickly went back upstairs, not giving either of my parents much chance to stop me. I shut myself in the cluttered spare room and worked my way around piles of junk until I got to the right-hand window. This window overlooked the little roof over the steps that went down from the seldom-used back door. I opened the window, pulled the screen inside and carefully set it down. Then I climbed out the window and onto the stoop roof. From there, I let myself down onto the weathered railing and then the steps.

Once on the ground, I crawled behind the house to avoid being seen through the windows. On the driveway side, I stood up. I didn't have any cover between there and the shed, so if dad spotted me, there was no avoiding it. I had to hope his eyes stayed glued to the TV.

When I got to the shed door, I called quietly, "Sean?"

"Aaron!" I could hear him slap his hands on the door.

"Shh. Stay quiet, buddy. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but it's dark in here and I can't reach the light. I'm hungry."

"It's almost supper time. Then you can come out. If dad doesn't let you out, I'll bring you something to eat."

"Okay." He sounded all right, but small and forlorn.

"It's going to be all right. Don't touch anything in there, okay? I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Okay. I'm just sitting on the tarp."

"That's good."

"Maybe I can reach the light if I climb on something. I can't reach if I jump."

"No, don't try to climb on anything. It's too dangerous."

"Will you turn the light on for me?"

"I can't. Dad will see that it's on and he'll know I did it. He doesn't know I'm out here. I have to go back inside. Don't tell him I visited you."

"Okay."

"Sean? Did dad hurt you?"

The silence was excruciating. Sean finally answered in a choked voice.

"He spanked me."

"How many?"

"Just one."

"Okay." _One too many._ "That's not too bad. We can talk about it more later. See you soon."

"Bye."

I went back around the corner of the house, crawled under the first floor windows, climbed up on the railing and had a scary moment when it seemed like I wouldn't be able to climb back onto the roof. I managed it in the end, scraping my leg in the process, but I was sure no one would notice. I was back in through the window just as dad called to me up the stairs.

"Aaron! Dinner time."

"Coming," I called back. I fitted the screen back into the window and closed it as quietly as I could.

As I was wading back through the clutter, dad yelled at me again, more of an edge to his voice this time. I closed the spare room door behind me and hurried down the stairs.

Dad greeted me with, "Go get your brother out of the shed."

I stared for a couple of seconds, trying to read on his face whether or not he knew I'd just been out there and was messing with me. Then I tried to look surprised. I shouldn't know Sean was in the shed. Finally, I realized I'd been standing there too long and turned away.

I hurried out the front door and went back to the shed.

"Sean," I said, unbolting the door, "it's dinner time."

"I thought daddy was going to let me out," Sean said, hugging me around the waist.

"Well, he told me to." I hoisted him into my arms and closed the shed door. "I think he's still in a bad mood, so try to be extra good during dinner, okay?"

Sean agreed. He didn't seem to be in pain or to have any new bruises, so I tried to reassure myself.

"I don't like it in the shed."

"Neither do I." I set him down when we got to the front door and gave his hand a squeeze before we went in.

* * *

_Thank you for reading this far. The next one will be tough too; not sure how long it will take to post. Your support is appreciated._


	6. Sarah

_To DaisyAngel: Thanks for another comment. Yeah, things were really getting bad at that point, for all of us. I think in a way it was good that Sean was so little because he couldn't fully understand the level of our father's betrayal._

_I know this chapter is a lot longer than usual. I didn't want to break it up because I see it as one brief chapter of my life. My purpose in telling it at all is to show the evolution of my experience with romance and sexual tension. My fearful childhood definitely intensified my worries in that area._

**_Warning:_**_ Honestly, this chapter is probably less upsetting than the ones before, but there is a bit of emotional abuse, peer pressure and sexual tension. If you've come this far, this chapter probably won't faze you._

* * *

October 26, 2019

Something weird happened to me last night. I had been working on this chapter quite a bit. Meanwhile, Levi was talking to a friend of ours who is going through a lot of troubles right now. The friend asked to talk to me, and I struggled to get more than my typing ability into front. Finally, I got there.

"It's Hotch," I said, "...but I have a problem."

"What is it?" the friend asked.

"I think I'm fifteen."

As alters, we're not constrained to time in the way that normal people are. Reid has stuck to his twenties, but Levi has gone between twenties and early thirties, Jack Frost has been going between about fourteen and sixteen, my Jack fluxuates between six and eight or nine, Eren goes between twelve and seventeen… Scott, Jane and I were the only ones who seemed to stay constant until last night. Suddenly, I had the physicality of my fifteen-year-old self, along with some of my less mature personality. I still had all my memories and a lot of my adult experience to draw from, but the regression was surreal, to say the least.

Levi is the only alter who saw me like that–for which I'm grateful. It would have been a bit mortifying to my fifteen-year-old mentality for Reid to get a glimpse of me at that age firsthand. But I was even more worried about Jack trying to wrap his head around his dad being a teenager. Fortunately, when I woke up this morning and he told me I looked different, Levi assured me that I looked like I was in my twenties. So, things are almost back to normal. I told Jack it was the same as his age going up and down a little in this world, and he was satisfied.

* * *

Toward the end of my sophomore year, I started taking an interest in girls, but I knew I couldn't go on dates the way other guys did. If I wanted to go out, I'd have to tell my parents about my date. They'd want to meet her. I wouldn't want her to meet them–not my father, anyway. Still, I was thinking about it more and more. And then something strange happened.

I was sitting alone in the cafeteria, as I often did, when a girl came over and sat across from me. She had short, light brown hair and brown eyes. I didn't notice people's eye color. I never looked them in the eye. But there she was, looking at me like she knew me.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked, though she was already seated.

Unsure of the situation, I shook my head.

"I'm Sarah. I'm a freshman, but I'm fifteen. I just had my birthday."

"Happy birthday," I said mechanically. "Um… I'm Aaron."

"Yeah, I know. My friend Kelly is in your English class."

"Oh." I vaguely remembered who Kelly was.

"So, you run track?"

"Yeah." I felt extremely unprepared for this conversation. I decided I should finish eating quickly and get out of there.

"That's cool. I want to try out for cheerleading next year, but it's competitive. Maybe I'll play volleyball." She finally started eating, which interrupted her chatter.

I thought I should fill the silence, but I couldn't think of anything to say about cheerleading or volleyball. Then her mouth was clear and she started up again.

"Know what you want to do after school?"

I felt a sense of panic. "Today?"

She laughed. "No, I mean when you graduate."

I felt relief and embarrassment at the same time. "Oh. Uh… I don't know. I like woodshop and I'm pretty good at English, but I'm not sure what I'd do with those."

"Hm. Maybe you could bind books." She grinned like she'd made a great joke. "I don't know what I want to do either… it would be cool to be a scientist or something, but science is hard. For me, anyway."

"Me too." I didn't know why I was trying to find common ground with her. I just wanted to escape. Other kids were probably watching us, wondering why a girl who was neither ugly nor overweight was talking to an outcast like me.

"So, are you running any races anytime soon?"

That was a sore spot at the moment. I'd just missed the spring track meet. "Not if I can't get my grades up," I said, keeping my eyes on my food.

"I'm sure you will. If you're having trouble with something, ask the teacher for help after class."

She made it sound easy.

"Or maybe you could get a tutor."

I smirked. "My dad would never spend money on that."

"Well, don't give up. I heard you're fast."

_From whom? _"I'm more of a distance runner, but… I am kind of fast." I had eaten enough to give up on lunch. "I should try to do some studying before next period," I said, gathering my cup and napkin onto my tray.

"Sure. I'll see you around, Aaron."

"See you."

_That was weird,_ I thought as I made my getaway. Girls didn't talk to me. Not unless we unfortunately got paired up for projects. Maybe whomever she normally ate with was sick that day. Maybe she got there late and had nowhere else to go. _Weird._ I decided it was a fluke and pushed it out of my mind.

But the next day, she was there again. Sarah Hiller, just turned fifteen and starting to fill out in an attractive way, started running into me all over school. She got me talking, whether I wanted to or not, and after a couple of weeks, I realized that I would have to either ask her out or formally ask her to leave me alone.

I weighed the pros and cons very seriously. I thought it was probably a bad idea, but then again, if she met my parents and saw how awful their relationship was, it would probably scare her off without any kind of rejection from me. I wasn't very attached to her, so it might make a good trial run to see if I could actually have a girl friend or not.

One evening at supper, I tried to ease into the topic. "There's a fundraiser picnic on Saturday. The school's raising money for a senior trip at the end of the year."

"Picnic?" Sean asked. His experience with picnics was limited to church events. They were usually held in the park, so the opportunity for both food he enjoyed and a fun space to play in was very attractive to him.

I didn't want Sean getting his hopes up. I'd like to take him to a picnic, but that wasn't the point of this. "I thought I'd like to go with a friend," I said.

"What's her name?" dad asked dryly.

I blushed.

"How much would it cost?" mom asked.

"Two dollars… each." I should probably pay for Sarah too.

"Two dollars for ten-cent hotdogs, burgers and Cokes," dad scoffed.

"I can pay for it myself." I didn't have much income, but dad did pay me to mow the lawn in the summer, and our grandparents sent us money at Christmas and birthdays. I saved most of it, indulging only in an occasional comic book or other small luxury.

"Well, if you want to, I don't see why not," mom said, looking warily at dad.

"Who's this friend you're taking?" dad persisted.

I avoided his eyes. "Her name's Sarah Hiller. She goes to Calvary Baptist Church." I figured the church membership was a good endorsement.

"Baptist," dad sneered. Our church was Presbyterian. Not that we were too exclusive when it came to denominations; I think my dad just wanted to find fault with whatever I wanted to do. "It's your money. Where's it being held?"

"Just on the hill behind school. If I sign up I can get the bus to pick me up."

"No, no. You don't ride the damn school bus on a date. I'll drive you."

This was the last thing I wanted. I was just realizing it at that moment, but I really wanted Sarah to like me. This might ruin everything. "You don't have to do that…"

"It's Saturday, right? Lunch time? I'm not busy. I'll drop you off and pick you up later. What time does it end?"

"Um… three, I think."

"Sure, why not. Just make sure you keep it in your pants," he added sternly.

I blushed again.

"Keep what in your pants?" Sean asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"It's a figure of speech," mom supplied, looking mortified on my behalf.

* * *

Somewhat to my surprise, Sarah eagerly accepted my invitation to the picnic, in spite of my warning that my father would be driving us. When the day arrived, dad put on nicer clothes than he usually did on his day off, and he actually re-combed my hair for me, something he hadn't done since I was little. He was acting almost like his old self. I didn't know how to feel about that. I couldn't trust it.

"Make sure you're polite to her folks," he said on the way to Sarah's house. "And to her, too."

"Yes, sir." I thought his advice was ironic, given how rude he was to his own wife and kids.

"I'll head back to the school around two-thirty, so watch the time."

"I will." I reminded him of Sarah's house number and we soon arrived in her driveway.

We walked up to the door and I rang the bell. Dad actually kept back, not crowding me.

Sarah opened the door and introduced me to her parents, who were hovering behind her. I reluctantly introduced my father, who stepped forward to shake hands.

"I'll be picking them up before three," he told the Hillers.

I had ridden in the front seat on the way over, but I figured I should let Sarah have it on the way to the picnic. But that meant she'd be next to my dad, and I didn't like that. Before I could make up my mind, dad opened the back door of the car.

"Here you are, Sarah."

"Thanks," she said, grinning.

A little bewildered, I hurried around to the other side and got into the back beside her. Dad got back into the driver's seat and we were off.

Dad immediately engaged Sarah in pleasant conversation. He asked if she wanted to go to college after high school (she hoped she could), what sports she liked, what she wanted to do with her life, if she had more friends at church or at school… in fifteen minutes, he knew her as well as I did. He was being very charming about it too. It unnerved me.

When we arrived at the school grounds, he left the car running when he got out to say goodbye. "Have a good time and don't wander off from the group," he admonished us lightly.

"We won't," Sarah answered. "It was nice to meet you, mister Hotchner."

"You too. I'll see you later."

When he waved at us out the car window, Sarah waved back and I half-heartedly lifted my hand for a moment.

_Who was that, and what did he do with my father?_ I wondered.

* * *

There were games at the picnic. Most of them seemed childish to me, so I didn't plan on participating, but Sarah convinced me that we needed to be in the three-legged race. I liked running, but wasn't used to doing it with a partner. We did well at first, got tangled up, made a comeback and came in second. Only first place got a prize, but Sarah didn't seem disappointed. She also seemed to think that since we'd held hands for stability in the race, now she could hold my hand all the time. I wasn't complaining.

We had some good food, walked around, watched younger kids playing little-kid games, went back for more food and talked. I hadn't felt so good for a long time. Then two-thirty came around and I knew our time was almost up.

"My dad will be back soon," I said.

"Yeah. This was really fun," Sarah said, smiling at me. "I'm glad I went with you."

I didn't know what to say. As I watched for my dad, I tried to subtly get my hand away from her. I didn't want him to see.

She took the hint and kept a little space between us when he arrived. She also did most of the talking again on the way back to her place. But she had a good poker face–she kept stroking my fingers on the seat between us while she faced forward, looking at my dad in the rearview mirror.

When we got back to her house, dad stayed in the car to let me walk her to the door.

"He can't really see us from here," Sarah said, looking back toward the car through the ivy that surrounded her front door. "Do you want to kiss me?"

I didn't know if this was normal for an informal date or not. Since she was offering, I thought it was best to take her up on it. "Okay."

It was a very tame and probably awkward kiss. It was my first, and at the time, I had no reason to think it wasn't hers.

"Let's get together again soon," she said, smiling at me.

I agreed, even as I thought, _Again? This will never happen again. My dad has been possessed by a benevolent spirit that is about to depart his body. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity._

We said goodbye and she closed the door. I went back to the car, not sure what to expect.

The first couple of minutes of the drive were quiet. Then dad said, "She seemed nice."

_So did you, oddly enough. _"Mhm."

"She your girl friend?"

_We kissed… does that mean she's my girl friend? _I shrugged.

"Well, be careful. Remember what I told you."

_The "keep it in your pants" part or the "I won't raise your bastard" part? _I nodded.

* * *

There were no fights that night. No yelling. No hitting. I told Sean about the picnic and promised to take him on our own miniature one in the yard the next day. Things felt weirdly good, but I had a feeling dad would be back to normal in the morning. I wasn't wrong.

Still, things had gone surprisingly well with Sarah. We kept hanging out, and it wasn't long before we found a chance for another kiss. I was starting to like this, whatever it was.

One day, she gobbled her lunch down in record time and told me, "Wait five minutes and meet me behind the cafeteria."

"What? Wait…"

But she was already leaving.

I looked around uncertainly. And, like most boys my age would have, I waited five minutes and made my way out behind the cafeteria.

I didn't spot her at first; she had stepped behind the dumpster. As soon as I joined her, she threw her arms around me and mashed her mouth against mine. I didn't hate it.

We made out for a while. I had no experience, but she seemed to be enjoying herself, so my nerves gradually went away. Then she started moving her hands over my arms and shoulders, and I started getting nervous again. I was getting very turned on. I should stop.

"It's okay," she said when I pulled back.

"I um…" I couldn't tell her I was worried I was going to get an erection. I didn't know what to say, but that was definitely not it.

"Come on, it's okay," she repeated. She guided my hands from her waist up toward her bust.

I pulled my hands back and looked around, terrified that someone would discover us. "I… I can't."

"Why not?"

My face felt warm. This was so fast. "I don't know if I could stop," I admitted. I'd never done this kind of thing, and suddenly I had a million questions I hadn't thought of before.

"Oh." She didn't look horrified. If anything, she looked happy. Smug, even. "So, we can't right now, but… I might be able to get a condom. I know my parents use them."

Now my face felt extremely hot. "But… it's a sin." I felt a little un-cool saying it, but I knew her family was Christian like mine, even if they were a different denomination. I also remembered my father's warnings all too well.

She took my hands again and looked me in the eye. "It's a sin to mess around with someone you're not going to marry," she said. "I like you a lot, Aaron. I think I'd be okay doing this with you."

Her logic was quite flawed, but that was hard to think about under the circumstances. "I don't know," I stammered. "I… I like you too, but I don't think we should do this… yet." _Yet? What am I saying? I'm considering this?_

Images of my father throwing me and a pregnant Sarah out of my house were coming to the forefront of my mind. We would have nothing. We would live in a packing case.

"So, we take our time," Sarah said. "I'll see if I can get hold of a condom and you think it over. No rush." She stepped forward and kissed me. "Okay?"

"O-okay." I had gone mad. I let myself kiss her again. And again. "We should get back inside."

"Yeah." She gave me a hug. "I'll go first. Wait a little while before you come in."

I agreed. While I waited behind the dumpster, I thought to myself, _I'm gonna go to hell._

* * *

Naturally, our little tryst was on my mind a lot over the next day or two. I wondered if she would change her mind. I wondered if I should try to back out. If I didn't, I wondered when and where on earth we would manage to get enough privacy. Then something shook me out of my musings at track practice one day.

"Hey, Aaron?" It was Ryan Walter, one of my track friends.

"Yeah?"

He came close and lowered his voice. "Are you and Sarah Hiller together?"

Even though he had spoken quietly, I still took a nervous glance around. "Kind of. I took her to the picnic and I'm planning to ask her to a movie soon."

"Okay, well, listen… there's something you should know."

I had known Ryan for several years and liked him all right. He didn't seem like the sort to gossip. "What?"

"Ever since Sarah went through the sex ed classes last fall, she's been going from one guy to another, trying to get them to do it with her."

"What?" I said again.

"She latched onto Mark Zeller first. He probably would have been game, but she was all over him all the time and people started teasing him about her… didn't you hear about that?"

I shook my head. I was a loner. I always heard things last, if at all.

"Anyway, she's upped her game since then. She's gotten more normal on the surface, but she's still at it. She's just trying to get a guy serious enough to have sex with her. Guess she's just curious or… I don't know. The trouble is, most of the underclassmen are on to her, and she's getting desperate. If she stays with you and doesn't bounce to another guy soon, everyone's going to figure you did it."

I was in shock. The first girl to pay me real attention was a fake? Just my luck. I felt a little sick. Then denial kicked in. "No, you must be exaggerating. She's not like that."

_Or is she? She seemed pretty eager the other day…_

"I'm just trying to do you a good turn, man. Trust me, if you don't break up soon, you'll lose your reputation. Such as it is."

It was true that I didn't have a great rep. I wasn't known for being a good student, I had missed a lot of days for excuses that didn't seem to stack up very well, I didn't really talk to anyone or have close friends. I'd thought that Sarah was the best thing that could happen to my popularity, but now it seemed it was about to take a dive from its pathetic perch over the deep end.

"Well… thanks for telling me. But I think you've got her wrong."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

* * *

That weekend, I did take Sarah to a movie. There were two cinemas near us, but I didn't consider going to the bigger, more expensive one. They were showing the same movies for a higher price, and Sarah had said she didn't care about fancy things as much as she cared about spending time with me. If not for what Ryan had told me, that would have seemed like a very good thing. As it was, I couldn't make up my mind.

Dad drove me to Sarah's, but the cheaper cinema was within walking distance of her house, so we didn't have the pressure of his company on the way over. We held hands and finally shared a kiss in the open without worrying about being spotted.

If I remember correctly, the movie we saw was _The Princess Bride._ Whatever the title was, it had elements of romance and humor, and I half wished I paid more attention to it because it was a good film. That, however, would have required less making out. I had a voice in the back of my mind telling me that I should hold back more, at least until I was sure Ryan was wrong about Sarah, but my hormones kept telling me that whether it was true or not, she seemed pretty happy with me and I felt good when I was with her. I might even marry her someday, so really this was fine. Hormones and logic don't mix very well.

When the movie was over, Sarah gave my hand a tug and said she needed to use the restroom. I walked her down the hall, wondering why she didn't use the bathroom in the main lobby area. When we got to the end of the hall, I saw a sign on the ladies' room door.

"This one's out of order," I said, though it was obvious.

Sarah smiled. "Mhm. Come on." She gave my hand another tug and pushed the door open.

With a nervous glance over my shoulder, I followed her. Going past the out of order sign felt like something criminal to me. But then she was kissing me again and I let myself stop worrying about that.

She started untucking my shirt, which made me a little worried, but her other hand was on the back of my neck and she was keeping me very busy by starting to use tongue for the first time. I wasn't sure how to feel about that. Then her hands were on my skin, going up my back. I tried to say her name, but it got kind of muffled. Another few seconds and I was pulling back in panic.

"Hey, it's okay," she said, holding both my hands like she had behind the cafeteria dumpster. "I'm ready for this. Look, I got it." She let go of one hand and pulled a condom from her purse on the counter.

I hadn't made up my mind on this issue. As a foolish kid, I thought I could think it through right then and there instead of insisting on taking more time. I stammered a little, trying to buy a few more seconds.

"It's okay," she said again. "You can touch me too. I want you to." She kissed me again, pulling my hands back to her sides and sliding them up her body… and then back down.

"I… I can't," I said. My body was trying to tell me it was too late for that, but between my father's warnings and Ryan's, I couldn't quite be convinced. I felt like I was in a lose-lose situation here. "I just don't think we should."

"Don't you want to?" she asked, looking hurt.

"It's not that," I said quickly. "I do… you're really pretty and I like you a lot…" This sounded bad, but I didn't know how to fix it. "I just can't. It's too soon."

She looked extremely disappointed, but she was also starting to look less determined. "I like you too," she said, looking down. "I think you're the one for me, and I don't need to wait anymore."

It sounded so sincere; I wanted to believe her. But… "How can you be sure of that? I can't. I've never had a girl friend before you, but you've been with lots of other boys. Do you really like me better than all of them? How do you know you won't like the next guy better than me?"

As I spoke, she started breathing harder, and to my mortification, tears formed in her eyes. "Do you think I'm a slut?"

I didn't know what to say in response to such a direct question, but after a moment's hesitation, I said, "No…" and I probably should have kept my mouth shut after that, but I said, "I just don't know why you like me when no one else does. One of the guys told me you went from one guy to another because you want to try having sex and you haven't found someone who wants to yet."

She slapped me, and I can't say I blame her, whether my conjectures were true or not. "I really liked you, Aaron. I thought you were a good person, not like those other jackasses!" Tears were running down her face now. "Anyway, what's wrong with wanting to find someone special and make love with them? What the hell are you afraid of?!"

That felt a little insulting, but I couldn't go on the defensive with her crying like that. "I'm sorry. Sarah, I really liked you too." We were both using past tense. Was it over?

She shoved the condom into her purse and pulled the strap onto her shoulder. "I'm going home."

I was too late to open the bathroom door for her, but I hurried to fall in step with her. "Sarah, I'm sorry."

She had shut down. As far as she was concerned, I was a stranger to her. She barely said a word on the walk back to her house. I tried several times to make up with her, apologizing, explaining my perspective, telling her that the rumors I'd heard were widespread, that I was willing to try again; but all was to no avail. I was the bad guy.

We both pretended things were fine when we got back. My dad was visiting with Sarah's parents, and we made awkward conversation for a few more minutes before he took me home.

After that night, we were civil to each other in public, but I went back to being someone she didn't know. We weren't friends anymore. I hadn't realized how desperately I needed a close friend until she broke up with me. I felt that I would have been better off if she had never noticed me at all.

* * *

October 28, 2019

I think my age is back to early- to mid-thirties, which is where it was when I first got here. Reid's birthday was today. After we got done with some "adulting" we carved a pumpkin to look like the Red John smiley face and it turned out pretty well.

One of the grown-up things we did was some negotiating over some charges we weren't actually lawfully required to pay, and we did come to a compromise with the people demanding the payment–good news at last. That's a good chunk of anxiety lifted off Mairead. Eren, Jack and I all prayed before we made that phone call, and we thank God for his benevolence toward us. Wednesday, we should get the cat vaccinated if all goes well, Thursday is Halloween and November second is my birthday. We'll probably be busy through tax season at this rate.

* * *

_A/N: With the perfect vision of hindsight, I want to say that I know I made mistakes and that I could have treated my first girl friend a lot better. Ignorance and hormones are my only excuses._

_Next chapter will likely be a tough one. Thank you for reading. I hope you'll take the time to comment. ~AH_


	7. Trick Or Treating

_This one is a bit shorter, but I hope contains enough pleasant material to make up for some of the depressing stuff._

_Update: a friend drew an illustration for this chapter as a birthday gift to me. _You can put this after the main part of deviant art's URL to see it, or search for the piece "Trick Or Treating" by emobunnyme:

/emobunnyme/art/Trick-or-Treating-819022239

_**Warning**: More domestic abuse and mention of cutting._

* * *

Near the end of the year, I tried dating another girl, and then two others over the summer. They were nice enough, but no one clicked with me. I decided that dating was just not for me–a silly thing to decide at fifteen, but at the time it seemed inevitable that it would never work out.

Dad's drinking was getting worse, and he was yelling at mom a lot at night. I still let Sean sleep with me, but I'd move him to his own bed once he was in a deep sleep, to make sure dad didn't catch him in my bed again. Sean was also still wetting the bed from time to time, and the more dad found out about that, the more shame and pressure he put Sean under for it. I'd stand up for him where I could, but I had to pick my battles. I defended him most when there was danger of his being taken to the shed.

My spare time, and mom's, was dedicated to getting Sean ready for first grade. Mom hadn't enrolled him in kindergarten. I think it was because she didn't want to be alone during the day, but she said she preferred to teach him the basics at home. In reality, I ended up teaching him most of the alphabet, right from left, counting to twenty, basic addition, where rain came from and various other simple things that he would need to know soon. I also taught him things mom probably wouldn't have thought to: don't try to answer every question in class; obey all the rules; don't show off; help other kids if they needed it, but don't let them trick you into doing things for them; don't ever hit, poke, shove, pull hair or otherwise physically harass another student, even if they started it, because you'll both end up in trouble.

I had worked hard over the summer to catch up some of the subjects I'd been struggling with. I still wasn't very confident in them, but I thought I should be able to keep my grades good enough to go out for track that year. My father's outbursts were worse than ever, but other aspects of my life were OK. I was cutting less frequently, and I was starting to make plans.

Once I finished high school, I would get a job. Any job would do. I would work hard at it and save every penny of my money to buy a house. Then, as soon as I had a down payment, I'd move out. I would take mom and Sean with me. I hadn't told either of them my plans yet because I knew Sean might accidentally talk about it around dad, and I knew mom was too scared to leave–so far. I would have to work on that. Once we were settled far away from dad, I'd enlist. It didn't matter what branch. If I became a military man, it would solve all my problems. My family would be taken care of, I would have help with college if I wanted to go, and my father could never suggest that I wasn't masculine enough ever again.

* * *

Since I'm writing on the thirty-first, I should talk about Halloween. I had taken Sean trick-or-treating the previous year, and that October, we spent a lot of time talking about the costumes we wanted to wear. We ultimately decided on Batman and Robin. Mom and dad let me take Sean by myself. I didn't tell them I'd been invited (collectively with the rest of the track kids) to a Halloween party. I felt awkward at parties, especially ones for kids my age, and I'd rather just spend the evening with my kid brother.

Our costumes were store-bought, in spite of dad's saying it was a waste of money. But the best part about it was that I made the bucket for Sean to collect candy in. The principal component was a shoebox, but I'd decked it out to look like the Batmobile. He could lift the hood to put the candy inside. Every house we stopped at, someone wanted to know where we'd gotten the candy bucket. Sean would grin and say "Batman made it!" Then they would look at me in surprise for confirmation, and I (very glad for the cowl that covered most of my face) would acknowledge that yes, I had made it myself.

Sean was adorable and the costumes were a hit, so he made out like a bandit. I put some of his candy in the pockets of my utility belt so the box-mobile wouldn't look so full when we made our last few stops. We ate a few pieces of candy on the way home.

"Did you have fun?" I asked.

"Yeah," Sean said around a wad of taffy.

"Good. I did too."

I looked up ahead. Something had caught my eye. I scanned the sidewalk several yards in front of us until I saw movement again. Someone was in the shadows between houses on our left. I couldn't tell how many people or how old they were, but I knew they were up to no good.

"Come on, let's cross the street here," I said. There weren't any cars in sight, so it was easy to cross. There wasn't any sidewalk on the far side of the street, and the houses were fewer and farther between, but street lights still cast some light over there.

We walked on, and I thought we'd left the troublemakers behind, but then I caught sight of them crossing the street behind us. A slight turn of the head and I could make them out: one, two, three. Looked like all boys near my age. My heart started pounding.

_They probably won't hurt us, but they'll scare Sean and maybe take his candy. _I tried to steady my breathing. I cleared my throat and tried to make my voice deeper.

"I say, Robin old chum, don't look now, but I think there are villains on our tail."

Sean loved it when I played with him, and he didn't miss a beat. "Gosh, really, Batman? What do we do?"

"First, we pick up the pace," I said, starting to walk a little more quickly. "You'd better let me take charge of the Batmobile."

He handed over the candy bucket and took my free hand.

"Now, we're going to have to take some evasive measures."

"What's that?"

"We're going to try to lose them. Stay close, boy."

"Yes, sir, Batman."

We ducked behind a house and took off running. I think we lost a piece of candy or two, but the Batmobile's hood kept most of it inside. I could hear the footsteps of our followers picking up behind us, so I didn't stop when I got to the far side of the house. I turned back the direction we had come from, threading our way between houses. Then I went perpendicular to our original direction again and tossed a handful of candy to the right before pulling Sean to the left and in the direction of home.

"Batman, why did you throw away some candy?" Sean asked, sounding a bit upset even as he refused to break character.

"It's called a red herring, Robin. A false trail, if you will. The villains will think we took one route, when really we took the opposite route."

I had doubled back to the road by now. We kept to the shadowy side of the street and maintained a quick pace. After about a quarter mile, I stopped to listen. All was quiet.

I set the candy bucket on the ground and knelt beside Sean. "Are you all right?" I asked in my normal voice.

"Right as rain, Batman," Sean answered, panting. "But holy hide and seek, that was a close one." He must have been working on that line the whole time we'd been evading our pursuers.

I laughed and hugged him. "Come on, we'd better get back to Wayne Manor." I gave the bucket back to him and picked him up in my arms.

"Alfred will be wondering what happened to us," Sean said cheerfully.

"Yeah." I was a little concerned that we might be in trouble for being late, but as much as we'd gone out of our way, we had also made up time by running.

When we got home, we weren't really in trouble. Dad insisted on putting the candy bucket on top of the refrigerator to be rationed out at a reasonable pace, an arrangement that Sean quietly objected to. Up in our room, I reminded him that my pockets were also full of candy, and I let him eat a piece before we brushed our teeth.

Looking back, I'm still not sure what would have happened if those other kids had caught us. All I can say is thank God they didn't. We both slept well that night and were still cheerful by the time we went to school the next day.

* * *

The day after that was my birthday. Mom always encouraged me to invite friends over for it, and that year I managed to get two guys from track to come over. We played stickball in the yard for a while; then we had roast beef for dinner because it was one of my favorites, followed by cake and ice cream. The guys gave me a digital watch with a clocking feature to time my runs. They told me to make sure I kept my grades up and stayed in shape for our first track meet. Mom and dad had gotten me a sweatshirt and some books–one was a simple introduction to law, which dad said was in case I wanted to follow in his footsteps one day. I did my best to act pleased, but I didn't think I'd so much as crack the spine.

I was a little sorry I'd told my friends to have their parents pick them up by eight o'clock. We were having a good time. Still, that never lasted with my father around, and he seemed to be getting a little irritated by the time they left.

Sure enough, they hadn't been gone long before my parents started fighting. As soon as the dishes were done, I took Sean upstairs. Even though we'd stuffed ourselves with cake, we ate some of the Halloween candy that I'd stashed in my dresser. Sean asked me to read my new books to him and I told him they'd be too boring. Instead, I got out a Dr. Seuss book and went through it painstakingly with him, asking him what each letter was and what words they made. He was just starting to learn how to put words together in school.

After about half an hour, I heard dad start his car and drive off. When he left this late, he often didn't come home until morning.

"Go get ready for bed," I told Sean, putting the book away. "You can sleep with me if you want."

While Sean headed for the bathroom, I went and found my mother downstairs.

She dried her eyes quickly when she saw me and forced a smile. "Hello, sweetheart. Is Sean in bed?"

"He's getting ready," I said. I sat beside her on the couch, putting an arm around her. "Thanks for making dinner and the cake and everything. It was great."

She kissed my temple. "I'm glad you liked it. It was a good birthday, wasn't it?"

I'd have given up the whole thing to have dad the way he used to be. "Yeah," I lied. "It was really good."

She smiled and caressed my face. "Sixteen years old. You're almost grown."

I could see a red mark on her face that I was sure would be purple by morning. I put my hand over hers. "I'm gonna take care of you, mom," I told her solemnly.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she quickly tried to divert my attention by ruffling my hair. "You silly thing. Parents take care of their children, not the other way around. Now, you'd better go get ready for bed."

"Okay. Good night."

Sean was in my bed when I got back to our room. I closed the door and crawled in beside him.

"Where did daddy go?" Sean asked.

"I don't know," I said. I didn't feel like making up a theory to put him at ease. Dad was just gone, like he was most of the time these days.

"Is mommy still here?"

"Yeah. Don't worry. Just go to sleep."

Sean fumbled around until he found my hand. "Good night, Aaron."

I curled my hand around his. "Good night, Sean."

* * *

Some mornings I would wake up in a panic to get Sean into his own bed because I'd fallen asleep before him. Some nights I'd barely sleep at all, trying to get in enough studying to make sure I could keep my grades up. Junior year was a major struggle. Dad's behavior was excruciating, school was tough, and late in the year, I was cutting more again. I would cut over my old scars so I wouldn't accumulate a lot of them, but it made the old ones more obvious.

Looking at my report cards, you'd have thought things were OK. I seemed to be "applying myself" enough to get by in the subjects that had given me trouble the previous year, and my attendance had improved. The attendance was due to dad's getting better and better at not leaving visible marks. It didn't matter how much pain I was in–if nothing showed, I went to school.

School pictures were taken just before Christmas break. If my subtle smile was at all genuine, it was just because I knew I had only a year and a half of this left. I was going to try to get a real job over the summer; the previous summer I had done only odd jobs like mowing the grass around the church and babysitting a rowdy pair of boys who lived a few miles away from us. This year would be different. I'd have an actual boss that would pay me with a check.

In the meantime, Sean was doing well in first grade. He was shy, but bright. He was already reading the best in his class and doing well with addition. He seemed ready to tackle subtraction when I offered to help him practice. He liked learning. I hoped it would last, though I wouldn't have minded if he stopped saying he wanted to be a lawyer when he grew up.

To encourage his reading, I got Sean a couple of comic books for Christmas. I knew I would sink a lot of time into helping him read them, but I didn't mind.

Christmas was one of the few fight-free days we had that winter. Dad was like flash paper, ready to go up in smoke at any moment. I started telling Sean that we needed to make plans because dad might get really angry and accidentally hurt someone.

Accidentally… it's what I had to tell him. I couldn't tell him that his dad had become a bad person that might enjoy hurting him. I taught him a simple plan: Call 911. Explain exactly what's happening. Don't hang up until they say you can. I made sure he knew our address by heart. I told him it was only for an emergency. There were a couple of times that year that I'm surprised didn't prompt him to make that call. I guess we were just too used to the abuse.

* * *

November 2, 2019

It's my birthday again. I'm still looking like I'm in my mid-thirties, so we'll just say I'm thirty-five. Jack's just a little bit bigger than Sean was back then. Sometimes I feel like Jack is my second chance, but I have to remember that doing everything right by Jack won't fix the way Sean and I fell out. I still love my brother, and I want Jack to know him.

He did show up for a little while on Jack's birthday, and we were in touch before that, so I know he cares and wants things to be better too. I have high hopes for that. He's not a little boy anymore, but he's still my kid brother. I'm going to reach out to him today and see how far I can get without irritating him. One step at a time. Maybe I'll remind him of that Batmobile candy bucket; see if he remembers. It was a misadventure I'll never forget.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. We should get to Haley next time. Please leave feedback if you have time._

_~AH_


	8. Haley

_Pechika, RousetheMouse and slep, thank you for your comments. Life has been tossing Mairead some difficult stuff lately, but we're getting through it. Slep, I thought about self defense, but my school didn't have anything like that available, and I wouldn't have been able to take a course outside school without their finding out. Maybe I could have convinced them I just wanted to do it for fun, but at the time I didn't think so._

_Oddly, I don't think I need any warnings for this chapter. Definitely nothing new, just mention of cutting._

* * *

There was only a month left in junior year. There was one more track meet—that was all I really cared about. The coach had told us to see him for a quick strategy meeting after school, but we had also been told to pick up our yearbooks that day. By the time I had my Reflections in hand, I'd forgotten where the meeting was to take place. I thought I saw some fellow athletes heading into the auditorium, so I hurried over and slipped through the door after them. It took me until I'd walked almost all the way down the main aisle to realize that this was not a sports powwow, but a theater club meeting.

I didn't want to turn around and go back out right after coming in, so I took a seat several rows back and tried to grasp what was going on in the scene being rehearsed. The guy I assumed had the main role was off to the side with a nondescript girl when a group of girls came onstage from the other side. The leading man started singing at his companion about how she had tricked him into thinking she was the standard of beauty.

I noticed one of the girls in particular. Her blonde hair swept up into an impressive, gravity-defying do. Her face was wholesomely pleasant. In the center of all those girls, I thought she stood out in both looks and demeanor. She seemed like the embodiment of everything of which I was deprived: confidence, charisma, a stable environment. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

I forgot about the coach's meeting entirely as the rehearsal moved into the next song—the leading man stopped the ladies from unwittingly revealing too much skin to him—and the next bit, in which he requested that one of the ladies help him reform from being a pirate. The blonde I was admiring turned out to be playing Mabel, the only young lady willing to help him. Her voice was like a bell. She sounded as sweet as she looked.

Suddenly, I remembered the meeting. Crap. Reluctantly, I stood and retreated back up the aisle, looking back over my shoulder as I did so. _I'm going to marry that girl._

I knew it was silly to think such a thing when I couldn't remember ever having talked to this girl before, but I'd rarely felt so strongly about anything in my life. What's her name? I thought I'd seen her at some point, but never really noticed her. I didn't look at anyone for long; they tended to think I wanted to talk, and talking was bad. I wanted to sit down with my yearbook right then and there, but first I had to find my coach.

The meeting was almost over when I finally found it (in the locker room… who knew?), but it had mainly been the "let's finish the season strong" speech that they gave to everyone doing sports near the end of the year. I was only lightly scolded for missing most of it. I hurried after my classmates who still rode the school bus (dad was supposed to be teaching me to drive, but he rarely found time for it).

I made myself wait until I got home before I finally opened the yearbook and started searching for the face I'd just fallen in love with. How had I missed her for two years? Almost three? There she was—Haley Brook. Well, it was better than "Mabel." _Haley Brook...Hotchner._ It sounded good. She was a sophomore; I'd failed to notice her for only two years, then. Now, how would I start talking to her?

* * *

The next day, I couldn't get out of my last class fast enough. My stomach felt like it was trying to push its way up to my throat, but I swallowed hard and walked briskly back to the auditorium. This time I sat in the second row, behind a few theater students and close to the piano where the performing arts teacher, Mrs. Langford, was taking roll call.

The kid with the main role dropped into a seat beside me. After his name had been called (Dean Cowen), he turned to me and said, "Were you here yesterday?"

"Yeah," I said, surprised that he had noticed me.

"Are you a member?"

"No… that's kind of what I'm here about. I want to join."

"Oh, cool. What's your name?"

"Aaron."

To my amazement, he stood up and interrupted the roll. "Missus Langford? We have a new recruit."

The teacher paused and looked his way. "Oh, do we?"

"Yeah. This is Aaron. Stand up, Aaron."

This was about the opposite of how I had wanted things to go, but this kid had a very persuasive energy. I stood meekly beside him.

"Hello, Aaron," Mrs. Langford said. "It's a bit late in the season for joining the club, but I'm sure we can find some things for you to do. What made you want to join?"

_I'm going to marry Haley Brook. Say anything but that._ I cleared my throat. "I wanted to try something new," I said lamely. "Are there any parts left in this play?" I wished I knew the name of the play. I sounded lost.

"Normally, there wouldn't be at this stage of the game, but it happens that our Fourth Pirate pulled out in favor of extra soccer practices. You won't have many lines, and all your singing will be ensemble, but the part's yours if you want it."

_Singing?!_ I could handle blurting out a line in front of the whole school, but singing I wanted nothing to do with. What had she said? _Ensemble._ That was one of those French words that we used in English for a few different things like… outfits and… groups. _Right, a group of singers._ They'd used the term at my church a few times. _Together! French for "together."_ So, I wouldn't have to sing anything on my own. That was good. Very good.

"Sure, where do I start?"

Mrs. Langford had one of the girls get me a script while she finished calling the roll.

Dean offered me a pen. "Put your name on your script. I have a highlighter you can borrow for your lines."

"Thanks," I said, doing as instructed.

"I hope you stick with it. It's hard to keep boys in the theater club."

"Why's that?" I asked, handing his pen back.

"I think most of them think it's a girly thing to do. Or too nerdy."

I looked around. I hadn't noticed the day before, but the boys were outnumbered about four to one, and the ones that were there did have a slightly nerdy look about them. Sweater vest, glasses, and one was actually wearing a paisley tie. Dean was dressed smartly, but he didn't seem particularly nerd-like.

"The thing is," he went on, "way back in Shakespearian times, all the parts were played by men. Even Juliet and Ophelia and stuff. They'd try to get a young guy who didn't need to shave yet, and he'd wear a wig and a dress and all that. Now, a lot of our male roles are being played by girls because we can't get enough boys interested."

At least it sounded like I'd have job security. I subtly glanced around and found Haley. "Are you going to have to kiss the girl at the end?" I asked.

He chuckled. "We're going to fake it. A stage kiss isn't a real kiss. It's especially easy if you have a big hat or something, but if not, you put your hand on her face on the upstage side—that's the side away from the audience—and your thumb goes over her mouth like this…"

He actually put his hand on my face, and for a second I was afraid he was going to give a full demonstration.

"...and then you just kiss your own thumb. Looks real to the audience." He took his hand away.

"Huh… that's neat," I managed. I busied myself searching for "Fourth Pirate" in my script, pretty sure I was blushing.

I spent most of the remaining club time studying my minute part. When it was time to go, I did my best to time my exit to Haley's. I started toward the aisle when she did, but then she stopped for a moment to talk to someone, and I had to keep moving to avoid looking suspicious. I walked very slowly, but when I got to the door I figured I had missed my chance. Then someone bumped my shoulder, and I turned to find Haley standing right next to me.

"Sorry," she said, staring at my face like she was wondering who I was. Then she seemed to recognize me and said "Welcome aboard!"

"Thanks," was all I managed to get out before she was on her way again.

_Well, that could have been worse._

* * *

My home life wasn't any better, but looking forward to rehearsals kept my spirits up. I learned my part (enthusiasm covered my incompetence) well enough that I could go where I was supposed to at the appropriate times without checking the script or being reminded, and that allowed me to spend the better part of the time watching Haley. I got nervous every time she looked my way or spoke to me. I was terrified of blowing my chance with her—if I even had one.

I realized that Haley was in a couple of my classes, but she sat behind me. I felt even less confident trying to talk to her outside the theater club setting. I always volunteered to do things there, partly because I had one of the smallest parts and therefore lots of free time, but also to impress my crush. To my chagrin, she did not seem any more impressed than any of the others, not that they were an ungrateful lot. In fact, I started getting a fair reputation for being quite helpful. I was good with tools, so I helped repair set pieces and props. I started carrying safety pins around in case of costuming issues.

By the time our first full run-through came around, I knew at least half the club members by name, and all of them knew me by mine.

We gathered around Mrs. Langford, who reminded us about dress rehearsal coming up, our schedule around exams, performances, and a cast party she was having at her own home after the final show. Then we hurried to our places. Those of us who weren't in the first scene put on their basic costumes and checked their props. I helped the others as we went through the first few scene changes.

As I was about to head down the crossover from one wing to the other, Dean stopped me.

"Hang on," he said. "You're losing your vestment, shipmate."

I realized that my ridiculous, billowing pirate shirt had come unfastened in the back under my vest. "Did I lose a button?" I asked, fishing in my pocket for a safety pin.

"Think so." Dean took the pin from me. "There you go. Now hurry, or you'll miss your cue."

I was grateful it was Dean and not one of the girls who had caught my wardrobe malfunction. I thought little more about it until the next time we were both offstage and he sidled over to me.

"So, Aaron… you've got some pretty major scars on your shoulder."

My stomach suddenly felt heavy. He'd seen my scars when he fixed my shirt. I hadn't cut lately because pursuit of Haley was keeping me from feeling so pointless, but close up they still looked bad. "It was an accident," I said quickly. "A long time ago."

He raised one eyebrow, and I knew he didn't believe a word of it.

"It's fine… it doesn't hurt or anything," I stammered, starting to feel warm.

"Listen, it's—"

"Get ready," I interrupted. "Your cue's coming up." Dean's cue was always coming up, since he was a main character.

He frowned, but he didn't press the issue any further.

I watched Dean closely through the rest of rehearsal, but he seemed focused on the play. I told myself that he wouldn't tell anyone. He was a nice guy and not prone to gossip.

Finally, I was back at my locker, sorting out which books I needed to take home to study. All of them, probably. I zipped my bookbag and shut my locker.

And there was Haley.

"Hi, Aaron."

I managed not to drop my bag. "Hi." A little stiff. Could have been worse.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Sure. I mean, I need to catch the bus…"

"I'll walk with you. And don't worry—if I make you late, my mom will drive you home."

As we started walking down the hall, I wondered to what I owed this extraordinary offer. "I wouldn't want to put your mom to any trouble."

"It wouldn't be any trouble."

She looked around at our classmates as we walked. Was she worried about being seen talking to me? Was she looking for someone in particular?

When she spoke again, her voice was softer; I could barely catch everything. "Maybe it was quite a while ago, but something really hurt you. That kind of hurt doesn't just go away. I want you to know that you don't have to go through it alone."

I blushed. "Did Dean tell you to talk to me?"

"No. But I'm sure that's what he had in mind when he told me about your scars."

We got outside where we could break away from the main stream of students exiting the building. I crossed my arms tightly, very uncomfortable.

"Maybe you're thinking it's none of my business… I mean, you barely know me…"

Even though I figured my chances were dead in the water at this point, I couldn't help jumping in there. "Actually, I think I know you pretty well."

"Really?"

"Sure. You're Haley Brook, gem of the theater club. Your birthday is July sixteenth. You love reading. You go to church every Sunday. You have a sister named Jessica. You're planning to go to college, but you're not sure what you want your career to be. You like cooking and classical music. Show tunes are your favorite, though. You'd probably have a dog if you had time for it, but instead you have a cat. You work out… or at least you do some strenuous activity often." I realized how long I'd been talking and shut my mouth. I sounded like a stalker.

She was raising an eyebrow now, but not the way Dean had. Her mouth was kind of puckered like she was trying not to laugh. It was a great face. It made me blush again.

"Well… you got one thing wrong."

I was mortified. "Oh… what was it?"

"It's Brooks, not Brook. They misprinted it in the yearbook."

I felt a chill at the same time that my body decided it was time to start sweating. _She knows I got her last name from the yearbook._ I didn't know why, but it bothered me that she figured that out. Maybe because it made me seem creepy.

"Well…"

She was smiling. "Not your fault. How did you know the rest of that stuff?"

I shrugged. "I'll tell you if you promise not to talk about my scars anymore."

"I won't talk to anyone else about them," she said seriously. "But if you need someone, you can talk to me, okay? Or really anyone in the club—most of them are really nice. But me or Dean, we'd listen. Life's hard. We all need someone sometimes. You know?"

I looked at the ground. "Is Dean your boy friend?" I asked, unable to stop myself.

"Ha… no. We're just friends. I've known him most of my life. Surprised you didn't know that, since you seem to know everything else about me."

I looked up and saw that she was teasing me. I smiled a little. "Well, you don't act like most of the couples around here, but you seemed pretty close, so I wasn't sure."

"I love everyone in theater club. We share a sacred bond," she said with dramatic solemnity. Then she grinned and shoved my arm. "And that includes you now."

Everything seemed better. I was missing the bus. And I was happy about it.

* * *

_Thanks for reading another chapter. This one was a little more fun to write than most of them. I like bringing up my first memories of Haley, now that the embarrassment of my awkwardness has faded. I hope you enjoyed it. ~AH_


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